Pale Walls pt. 5

If you haven’t read it, part 1 can be found here.

“Ciaaaaooooooo!” came the call as the three of them rounded a hedgerow. A bombastic ball of well-tanned Italian energy bowled into the group before they had the opportunity to collect themselves.

“Ciao Steffi!” Ele was first off the mark, grabbing the frizzy haired girl in an embrace, swift kisses planted and rapid Italian exchanged. Ele’s Italian was much better than Jasper’s of course, as is usually the case with the more outgoing. Jasper was too embarrassed to make mistakes and so never had the opportunity to learn from them. Ele made mistakes left right and centre, and so learnt extremely rapidly. Emily had an unfair advantage, being half Italian herself the language was in her blood, and as any Italian will tell you, this is the only way of truly understanding it and so her greeting to Stefania was as fluent and fluid as if she’d grown up there.

“Ciao” Jasper managed awkwardly “come stai… I mean va?” he managed, stai being the formal version of the phrase more suited to your boss or the pope, not the way you greet a friend of more than a year. Steffi chuckled and gave him a hug anyway.

“Come come! Sit, Massi and Claudio have just gone for food but Ally…” she didn’t need to say where Ally was because they could hear her, or more specifically they could hear her dog Iona. Clearly she had caught the scent of the three newcomers and was doing what all Border Collies do best: completely freaking out. They came out from behind the tree and there they were, the slight Swiss girl grappling with a black and white merry-go-round of insane canine energy, spinning at a velocity that would make most particle accelerators jealous.

“Please don’t wind her….” Ally started, but it was too late, Jasper had rushed forward with a slightly unmanly squeal and had grabbed the dog, who was now bouncing up and down, trying to coat every inch of him in kisses “…up” she finished defeated. It was safe to say that Jasper was a slightly awkward man when meeting people, greetings with humans were never his strong point, he was far too English and never got the nuances of kissing or handshaking or friendly hugging, which often left him (literally as this morning had shown) flat on his arse. Dogs on the other hand… well dogs he knew. Dogs were always down to party, all you needed to do was make it known to them that you were too, and as a result he now had a border collie trying to climb onto his shoulders whilst howling loudly, despite the frowns of her Swiss owner. “Jasper noooooo why do you always do this?” she said with a slight smile through the frown.

“Do what?” Jasper said with a grin and feigned ignorance as he stood; dog across his shoulders panting happily as she surveyed the ground below with a self-satisfied bark. Ally rolled her eyes and gave him the lead, planting a small kiss on his cheek which the dog intercepted with a lick. They settled down on the rug, artfully laid out with books and bottles strewn across it in an instagrammable fashion, though of course this was Italy and social media hadn’t quite reached this far yet. The chat was happy, and slowly others joined them, the two Italians Claudio and Massi arrived in a chorus of ‘Ayoooooo’ and ‘Ciaoooooooo’ and more enthusiasm from the dog, particularly when the mountain of cold cut meats and cheese was unveiled which led to a moment of animal wrangling that Hercules himself would have been proud of. A group of people Jasper hadn’t met joined too, friends of the frizzy haired Stefania and quickly followed by the older couple in the group, Stefano and his wife Chiara and the latest addition, little baby Marrella. The noise grew louder, the wine bottles grew emptier and bellies grew fuller.

Jasper leaned back on his elbows and smiled. The sun was lancing down between the leaves above him, dust and pollen caught in the almost physical presence of the beams of light, the brittle grass providing a satisfying coarseness to the ground under his hands. He reached over to scratch the dog behind her ears and she flopped relaxedly onto his lap, eyes closed as he gently petted her. He closed his own eyes and breathed in, the smell of the dry cracked earth permeated the air, combining and dancing with the meat and cheese aromas that came in waves, wafting on the slow breeze. Sounds of groups like theirs layered on one another from around the park in a constant happy babble, the screams of children and the sonorous booming bass of fathers performed as an orchestra with delighted laughter and the squealing of bicycle brakes. There were very few places in the world he would rather be than right there in that park, with his friends, his new Roman family all shouting and laughing and arguing with one another in that blissfully content way that conversation flows when a group is relaxed, waves crashing and coursing around the group, whipping white before running calm again. The wine helped too, though Jasper had been discreetly laying off it. Despite the extreme happiness and serenity he was feeling, he was strangely on edge, his impending meeting with Giulia a constant niggle in the back of his head, a knot of… was it anxiety or excitement? He couldn’t tell, he didn’t care, and either way wine was not a good idea at that moment, as the minutes ticked away and the cloudless sky beamed blue.

“Jasper!” someone shouted and a slice of prosciutto landed on his leg.

“Hmm?” he said, coming out of his reverie as the dog lazily tried to get the meat in her mouth without moving her head.

“I said you’ve got a date tonight don’t you?” said Em with a wicked grin. A chorus of ‘Ooooo’ went around the group. Despite them being a group with an average age over 30, it’s hard to let school habits die. The urge to blush was successfully suppressed and instead Jasper was able to just smile and turn away from them.

“Maybe it’s a date, maybe it’s just two friends going for a drink together?” he said, feigning disinterest in the whole topic.

“Maybe it’s the result of creepy stalkerish behaviour and Stockholm syndrome finally paying off”

Jasper looked at her with genuine surprise “Goddamn Em…”

“Well if the shoe and/or straight jacket fits!” she replied, grinning.

“Ma Jasper,” Claudio said, he couldn’t speak English, or more accurately Jasper couldn’t speak Italian, so having Claudio present always made them at least feel like they were learning something when they got together “chi e questa ragazza?” who is this girl?

Jasper smiled “she’s… Giulia”

The group sat in expectant silence. Jasper shook his head “you’ll all have to wait and see, it’s not fair to describe someone when they aren’t there to defend themselves. Besides” he winked at Massimo “I wouldn’t want to make anyone jealous” the big Italian rolled his eyes

“Basta Jasper” stop he said with a chuckle; the two had an on-going joke that they were in a relationship, on account of having slept with the same unfortunate woman not too long ago (separately of course), though neither of them knew about it at the time. Rather than letting it become a wedge between them, they had turned it into a joke and now they liked to try and make those around (and one another) uncomfortable with overt shows of passionate affection.

He smiled at the group, but seeing that they wouldn’t let it go he leant forward “It’s hard to describe really, you know sometimes you’ll see someone, whether it’s in the street, in a class, in the office and the world just… stops. It’s not that your heart is skipping a beat, it’s the whole world shrinking and slowing around you, until everything goes quiet, until the only thing that exists for you is that person. You all know what I mean, it happens to everyone right? Walking past someone on the street, having a conversation with someone on a night out, they become the only thing that matters for that one brief, infinitely beautiful moment. That happens every single time I see Giulia. Every single time I walk past that bar there is that inexplicable connection, like a pair of magnets snapping together through an unseen force. It’s as though some people were built, were designed to be in each other’s company and the universe knows it.” He smiled to himself and looked up; the group was staring at him with a mixed set of curious expressions. He cleared his throat. “So yeah, in my own awkward way I finally got off my arse, or fell onto it and now tonight we’re going to go do something together and see what this is all about!”

There was a pause, then Ele leant over and gave him a quick kiss on the head. “Such a hopeless romantic” she said, full of warmth.

“Hopeless being the key word there” said Em, but she was smiling too. “Bravo Jasper, well said.”

The others smiled and the conversation moved on, Claudio leaned over to one of the bilinguals and asked for a translation and soon the laughing and the pasta was back in full flow. Sadly though, all joyous experiences must come to a close, luckily for Jasper, the end of one merely meant the beginning of another. He kept his eyes on his watch, watching the hands eek their slow way around the clock face, apparently time also took the same approach to life as Italians did, it moved when it chose and only then. But move it did and eventually, with the harsh sun sinking low enough into the treeline to be lightly dimmed, the white light of midday giving way to the orange light of early evening, it was time for him to go.

Goodbyes with Italians, as you may guess, are not a short affair. There’s a lot of kissing, a lot of begging not to leave, a lot of shouting and laughing and restarting conversations so that if you’re not careful you can quite easily find yourself hanging around for an extra hour or two laughing and chuckling and awkwardly standing half in, half out of the room/park. Jasper wanted to avoid this, being British he was far too polite to cut a conversation short and so had developed several other tricks of exiting an Italian event in a quick and efficient way, without being overly rude. The quickest and simplest way was to stand and loudly proclaim that he was leaving, in Italian, whilst blowing kisses to everyone around. This invited them to stay where they were and ensured a swift exit.

“Ragazzi, sto andando via!” Guys, I’m off. There was a chorus of “Daaaiiiii” and “Oh no” but thankfully most people stayed in their seats, probably weighted down by cheese, bread and wine. Only Ele and the dog bounded to their feet to jump at him, giving him a hug that felt like being swaddled.

“Good luck J” she said, her voice warm and encouraging “you’ll do just fine.”

“Thank you love” he managed to say, as ever slightly thrown with just how kind a single person could be.

“Are you still here?” Em called with a grin, “just can’t get rid of you can we? If only Giulia knew…” he laughed, always there to bring him back down to earth, Ele’s warmth blissfully balanced with sarcastic cynicism.

“Love you too Em” he said, blew one last kiss to the group and turned away, a chorus of goodbyes following him around the corner and out of sight.

Rome in the late afternoon was a glorious sight, and although sunset was a couple of hours off still the light was already starting to deepen. The rooftops were starting to glow gold, the pale walls of the buildings glistening as the sunlight slanted down at them, catching windows and hanging baskets of flowers, casting shadows against the whitewash. He made his way through the streets, buoyed on nerves and excitement, distracting himself with marvelling at the glowing sights, though it was hard for him to ignore the knot in his stomach, one which was clenching more and more as he got to the Spanish Steps. The ancient icon of renaissance power was now a gathering point for local students and boozy tourists, as well as those who would like to take advantage of them, and on days like today it was humming with people. He delicately picked his way through the throng, avoiding the more persistent tat sellers and trying his best not to step on the more splayed out students caught up in amorous positions. At the last flight of the ancient staircase though he was accosted.

“Signor signor, per l’amore” For the love the little man said, thrusting a red carnation under his nose. He knew this con, the man would ‘give’ the carnation to your significant other for free, but then come pester you for a donation instead, usually trying to get 5 Euros or so out of you. Though it was odd that he was trying it with Jasper, who was clearly alone. Usually they were from the Indian subcontinent; however this chap was clearly Italian, his small size and bushy moustache almost comical as he grinned toothily at him.

“No, no grazie” Jasper said, trying to push the carnation away

“Per l’amore!” the man said, more forcefully.

“No signor, grazie ma no!” Jasper tried to sidestep the man, but he was skilled in his craft and hopped a step down to stay in front of him.

“L'amore è la cosa più importante, per te signor, gratis” Love is the most important thing, for you sir, free. Usually good at handling the hawkers, Jasper caved, he took the carnation from the man. Maybe it was the nerves, maybe it was the gap toothed grin or maybe he just couldn’t be bothered to keep on this dance. Jasper looked down at his pocket as he fished out a two euro coin, but when he looked up again the little man had gone, vanished into the crowd of drunken tourists below. Jasper stood blinking, holding the blood red carnation in one hand and the two euro coin in the other in bewilderment. Then he let out a laugh, a short bark and he felt the knot in his stomach loosen, if ever there could be a surer sign that tonight was going to go well, then that was it, the moustachioed Italian cupid had shot his arrow and he held the red rose to prove it.

Jasper laughed again and tossed the coin, caught it, pocketed it and skipped down the final few stairs. Yes, tonight was going to be utterly fantastic he thought.

Crossed Keys part 2 - Fresh Bread and Muddy Boots

Part 1 can be found here.

***

I looked in wonder at the room.

“Give me a shout if you need anything, I’ll just be in the kitchen getting things prepped for tonight” Hector had said, closing the heavy wooden door behind him. We had grabbed my things from the car, the snow now falling harder than ever, the wind blowing it at a right angle under our hoods. Once back inside we had come down a corridor from the bar, the distinct smells of a kitchen to my right and a line of rooms on my left. Each door had a name on it; ‘Hailsham’, ‘Tanlaw Mill’, ‘Verney Park’ to name a few. I was in ‘Beloff’ and Hector had assured me it was the more luxury accommodation. I could believe it. In the middle of the room was an enormous bed, the dark heavy wooden frame looked as solid as stone and the mattress was piled high with blankets and pillows, a thick fur cover over the top. At the foot of the bed was the most beautiful stand-alone copper lined bath, sitting on a stone slab with the drain underneath, the tap rising from the floor on a glinting column like the neck of a golden swan. The walls were the same dark wooden panelling as the main bar, with a small bookcase in the corner. It was warmly lit with a wrought iron candelabra hanging down over the middle of the room, the soft orange bulbs were unobtrusive and left small shadows in the corners. A door led off to a tiny little bathroom with a stone sink and ancient porcelain toilet, complete with overhead cistern and pull chord, a throwback to the ancient bathrooms in Stromont that I always remembered from my younger years. The only window in the room was a little one next to the bookcase directly opposite the bath, though now it was piled high with snow, little light making it through the cold blanket. The room wasn’t large, but the cosy feel of it meant that that didn’t matter; it was the kind of room to shelter from a storm in, which was convenient.

I switched on the bath taps which gave a distinct clunking rattling sound before belching forth a torrent of hot water. The steam rose pleasantly in a column over my head and into a black iron grate above. I sighed and flopped down to the bed. What a bizarre spot, I thought. How did somewhere like this exist, this far out in the sticks? It seemed impossible that a fixed base of people could possibly live out here, though then again if anywhere was going to attract people to come from a distance it was this pub. I smiled up at the ceiling, the warmth of the little room sapping the last of the cold from my bones as I continued to sink lower into the fur blanket. More to the point though, who the hell was Hector? How did he seem to know my family, and not only know them but actually get on with them enough for Grandma Margaret to have given him a bottle of whiskey? And who was this ‘we’ he kept talking about? I had assumed he meant a wife or partner but I hadn’t seen anyone else about so far. All sorts of strange and wonderful questions but at the time I couldn’t think of any that I really cared enough about to ask, the warmth of the room was intoxicating and if I wasn’t careful I’d fall asleep before my bath was run.

Standing up I wandered over to the bookcase, absently checking through the titles. It was an eclectic mix to be sure, collections of old classics like Dumas and Tolstoy thrown in with modern rippers like Cornwall and Moriarty, the occasional foreign cover completing the wheel of culture. Pleasantly, they all looked well used, thumbed through and slightly dog eared, the way a book should be. I picked out a worn copy of Grimm’s fairy tales and was about to step out of my clothes when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in” I said. Hector poked his head round and held out a steaming mug and a plate.

“I made too much tea and thought you may like some?” He looked down at the plate “Also biscuits, because no tea should go without a biscuit.” I smiled, clearly this man was a fiction and I had died and met an angel. That would certainly explain a lot.

“Thank you, that’s very kind” he nodded and came in, placing the tea and plate of biscuits on the bedside table before turning to leave. “Hector?” he stopped in the doorway and looked at me expectantly. I wasn’t sure which question to ask, so I went with an easy one “what is this place? I mean I know it’s a pub, a very nice one too but how… how is it so…?” I gestured round at the general room, indicating the pleasantness. He gave a knowing smile.

“It’s just a pub, for most people anyway, albeit quite a good one if I say so myself. For some people though it’s a little more than that, sometimes people need a bit of an escape and this place… well, it can be that. I think that’s a lot easier answered later though, you’ll have to excuse me, the game’s finishing soon and we’ll be opening up.” With that he was gone, the door clicking shut after him.

“Well that answered nothing” I muttered to myself before shrugging. I stepped out of my clothes and picked up a biscuit. Custard creams, an excellent choice. The tea was too hot still so I placed it over by the bath before stepping in. The water was perfect temperature, making my skin tingle a little as I slowly slid down, letting out an audible ‘ahhhhh’ as my shoulders submerged and I disappeared beneath the surface, staying under the water with a small stream of bubbles slowly trickling from my nose. I felt as though all the cold and misadventure of the day was finally being eked away.

I honestly couldn’t tell you how long I was in that bath for. I hadn’t realised how stressed and wound up I had been, but it felt as though a knot was being untied in me as I lay under the water. The stress and worry of having to see my family and struggling through the snow and the tree being down, new places, unfamiliar people and sights and frustrations, it all went away in that bath, dissolving out into the hot water. There’s a certain bliss in knowing that there’s nothing you can do for the rest of the day, that your obligations have come to a standstill because of external factors and the hot water was helping me accept that reality. I didn’t even pick up the book, I just lay there, relaxing, letting myself soak and drinking the tea. I even made myself a beard out of the bubbles, and honestly is there anything as relaxing as a bubble beard? I don’t know if I lay there splashing gently for 10 minutes or 10 hours.

Before I had the opportunity to completely turn into a prune however I was roused from my reverie. A gentle aroma was wafting under the door, something warm and soft, enticing me to take a deep breath in. Over the smell of the various bath soaps I’d liberally applied to the tub, the unmistakable scent of freshly baked bread was floating under the door in ever stronger waves. It was a glorious smell, conjuring images of artisanal bakeries and hipster patisseries; it was the smell of melting butter and comfort food, quiet mornings in with a cup of tea and plate of fresh toast and Bovril. My stomach grumbled, and I looked down at it accusingly through the bubbles. It grumbled louder in response and I sighed. I was ravenous, which sadly meant that bath time was over. Hopping out I was extremely grateful for the quietly clicking black radiator in the corner that was pumping out a surprising amount of heat, nothing worse than going from a warm bath to a cold house. I quickly towelled down and flung my case open, smart boring clothes suitable for family gatherings greeted me but luckily, tucked away there was also a nice big jumper and simple pair of black jeans, comfortable clothes for a comfortable place, though not exactly the most elegant of first impressions. I shrugged and dressed, half a sheep’s worth of wool jumper crackled with static as I slipped it over my head, my towel-dried hair slicking down unattractively. Shaking it free i gave it one last quick rub then shrugged again and put it up in a bun and turned to check myself out in the little makeup mirror. I looked more ready to settle onto a sofa and read a book than go spend a night in a pub but you have to make do with what you’ve got.

Walking down the corridor I felt like a cartoon character, floating on fluttering feet, beckoned by an enticing wisp of steam from a pie left out on a windowsill. The dark wood all around smelled of polish and resin, mixing with the crusty warmth of the fresh bread in an intoxicating, magnetic way, pulling me towards the main room of the pub again. As I approached though I could hear the unmistakable sound of other people, which made me pause by the heavy door. There was laughter and shouting but the wood was too thick to make out any words as such, it sounded like a group though, the back and forth of rowdy conversation too at ease to be a group of strangers. I took a deep breath and pushed through the large door, quietly trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. I sat quietly at the far end of the bar, close to the door and watched as four men in football kit moved around the room setting up the chairs around the tables. Clearly the ‘game’ as it were was over.

They were all caked in mud, but easy to identify one from the other, one was very tall and slim, another was short and quite squat, another was bald but quite athletic and the last was… well large is probably the best way to put it.

“The way that bloke launched at you, I thought he was going to take your head off!” the tall one said as he spun a chair to face the right way.

“Nah, he was just overexcited, it wasn’t him that I was worried about it was…”

“That fuckin’ centre back!” The squat one exclaimed, interrupting the bald one

“Yeah precisely. That guy had something to prove”

“Bullshit that the ref didn’t do something about that, that’s proper dangerous.”

“Especially in a pub league”

“Probably problems with his marriage” the large one said thoughtfully, flipping a bench the right way up.

“…go on I’ll bite, why’d you say that?” the bald one asked with a smirk. He was now leaning against one of the booths, rubbing mud off his hands with a cloth.

“Well anyone that angry on a Saturday is probably unhappy at home; taking his aggression out on poor unsuspecting arseholes like yourself is his form of therapy. I know that kicking you in the shins brings me no end of release”

“Don’t say release you wrong’un” the squat one said, pulling a bar stool out and perching on it, gesturing for the cloth from the bald one. The chairs had all been righted and three of the group stood by the glinting bar, whilst the tall one stood and prodded the fire with a long poker.

“Fuck me it was cold though” he said as he rubbed his hands “thought m’knob was gonna invert” I let out a short snort at the crassness of the sentence, clearly they hadn’t spotted me yet it felt I was intruding on a pretty personal chat. Whoever they were they were clearly close bunch and had something to do with the pub, they were too comfortable to be regular customers.

“Gross,” the bald one said “anyway, I quite like playing in weather like that, stops you over heating and you can run for longer”

“Why would you want to run for longer?” asked the squat one

“Seconded” the big one said, nodding and peering over the bar

“Well you don’t know that much about running”

“Hey, only one here that’s done a marathon remember” they all paused and stared at him quizzically

“Fuck me that’s right! I forgot that. Jesus that’s something…”

“Butler!” called the tall one, looking to the kitchen door “Butler where’s my beer you nonce”. There was a pause then a clattering in the kitchen.

“I think ‘Nonce’ is a bit rich coming from you dear…” Hector said as he pushed his way through the door. He was carrying a tray of bread rolls and the smell flooded the bar.

“Two hundred and seventy one” the bald one muttered.

“No beer until you’ve had your bread, can’t be drinking on an empty stomach” He turned to me and gestured to the rolls “Fancy some bread?” he asked with a smile.

I went red as the muddy four turned and saw me for the first time

“Bloody ‘ell!” the tall one said “where did you slip in from!” I went more red and struggled to find words for an answer

“Now now Sebastian, be nice.” He smiled and beckoned to me again. I stood and made my slow way over, standing by the bar. The tall one, whose name was apparently Sebastian let the poker drop and made his way over to join us, absently rubbing a piece of soot on his shorts. “This is Ash,” Hector continued, “she’s up here trying to get to Stromont to visit Audrey” Sebastian looked out the window

“Not tonight you’re not love” he smiled a broad grin, a small piece of dried mud falling from his cheek as he did. “How lucky you are to have found us then.” I couldn’t help but smile back, he had a kind face, although his demeanour was similar to your stereotypical ‘lad down the pub’ he seemed sweet enough. “Sorry about all that noise before, but I promise we don’t bite. Well, he does but only if you ask him nicely” he pointed at Hector who rolled his eyes and pushed back into the kitchen, the door clacking on its double hinge.

The three other guys had picked up a bread roll each and were liberally applying a layer of butter to the inside, hungry eyes entirely focussed on the food. I took the chair Sebastian had offered, picking a bun from the tray. The bread was still warm, crusty on the outside, but as I pulled it open the inside was soft and slightly moist. My stomach growled loudly and I blushed again.

“Ha! Sounds like someone needs this more than we do” the squat man laughed. He held out his hand and I shook it. “I’m Matt, that’s Seb” he indicated Sebastian, the tall man “that’s Dan” the large one raised a second bread roll in salute, the first hanging from one side of his mouth “and that’s Kirkwall, he’s a prick” ‘Kirkwall’, the bald one, bowed.

“Most people call me Alec and leave off the prick bit though”

“So Ash” Seb said, through a mouthful of bread “how comes you’re heading to Stromont?”

“Well actually it’s my grandmother’s will reading” I said, and too my surprise I felt a little wave of sadness flow over me.

“Ah sorry” said Seb “I didn’t realise you were Marge’s granddaughter”

I nearly choked on my bread

“Marge?” I exclaimed with a laugh. Seb grinned sheepishly

“Yeah she didn’t like that much at first but she learnt to love it eventually.” He looked away for a second, a thoughtful smile on his face “She was quite a force was old Marge, never seen someone hold down a whisky like she could” the other three scoffed

“Never seen someone feeding an old lady so much whisky like you did…”

“Hey, she kept paying for it. Seriously though, if you’re Marge’s granddaughter though, it’s honestly a pleasure to meet you.”

I swallowed a lump of bread and frowned at the men. “Sorry, I keep hearing these things about her, first from Hector and now you, seriously how do you guys know my grandmother?”

They looked at each other and Dan shrugged “it’s Hector mostly; I think she was a friend of someone he knew. Started out that he would go up to Stromont for tea and things, then one night he managed to convince her and Audrey to pop down here for dinner.”

“If I’m honest, we thought Audrey was a sour old bitch when she first walked in” said Alec, Seb hit him hard on the arm looking horrified

“Jesus you are a twat! That’s her aunt!” he exclaimed “I’m sorry about him, he likes to get a rise” I laughed

“Honestly it’s fine, actually sour old bitch is probably the statement I can relate to most about her.” Alec smiled, rubbing his arm

“Well that was just to start though, the thing about this place is it’s quite good at getting sour people to sweeten up. Marge though, she was great from the beginning, a force of nature no doubt, but always a laugh to sit and chat with, and she was down here plenty.”

“If I’m honest, I think Marge went more than sweet, pretty sure if she could ‘ave she wouldda been up on the tables each night” Seb grinned at the thought. I shook my head

“You talk like this place is magic.” They all laughed

“Some days it feels like that. You’ll see tonight, we’ve done something pretty good here” said Matt.

Hector pushed back through the door drying his hands on a towel “I hope you’re being nice to our VIP guest chaps” Dan let out a tremendous burp in response, Hector frowned.

“Just explaining how you cast a spell on this house that turns people into idiots as soon as they walk in”

“Ah yes, a simple spell that one, it’s called ‘Alcoholus too muchus”

“Weak” Matt said through a mouthful of bread.

“Do you want a beer or not?”

“About two hours ago, but now will do thanks” he smiled sweetly at Hector and the barman moved to the beer taps, pouring pints as the other four looked on, licking their lips.

“So is Luke joining us tonight?” he asked as he poured

“Should be” Matt replied “him and Giulia have been at practice all afternoon otherwise he would have come with us” he took his pint and sipped it, “aaahhhhh fuck that’s good” he smacked his lips and continued “think they’re hoping to play later”

“I bloody hope so, need them to whip this crowd up” Seb spread his arm to the empty pub

“Oh shut up, you know no-one comes here until later” Hector replied. “Ash, what will you have?” he said to me as he handed the others their pints.

“Ummm…” I looked over the beer taps, the various names a total enigma to me. “What’s the best?”

“Buddle’s Bitler”

“Out meant out”

“Weird Flex”

All three names were said at once by the guys and Hector rolled his eyes at them. He leant down on his elbows on the bar “Depends on what you like…” we proceeded to have a nice chat about the types of beer and how different flavours complimented different times and tastes. A true pub chat. It transpired that the four guys caked in mud had each come up with a different flavour and each was quite attached to their own beer. We sat in the warmth and the fire crackled gently as we chatted, the wind ripped at the walls but in that pub all was nice and quiet, snow piled and drifted, as the sun slid lower in the sky and the six of us talked away. It further transpired that the team before me were all part owners in the pub, with a couple of others who were yet to arrive, hence the ease at which they sat and chatted, and the interest in having their beer as labelled ‘the best’.

I eventually settled on a Buddle’s Bitler, with the caveat that I would have a pint of each of the others before the night was over, to the delight of the group. We settled in, chatting about the football they’d just played, the weather and my drive up to get there, it was easy conversation, and I felt myself falling in with the group immediately. They were a lively bunch, but relaxed and extremely comfortable in the old pub. Alec finished his pint first and looked at his watch.

“Right, time for a shower, what time is everyone getting here?

“You always ask that, and it’s always the same answer: I have no idea, it’s a pub, and they’ll get here when they want to get here” Hector replied.

“Not helpful. OK well I’ll be back in 20 minutes, can you shout if Luke gets here he’s supposed to be bringing me something” He started to walk to the door that lead to the rooms “wait…” he paused and looked around “where the fuck is Jack?” the others looked around the room, surprised.

“What the fuck I swear he came up with us from the football”

“Yeah he was literally at the front door with us, how did he disappear?”

“How does he do this?”

As if on cue, the front door suddenly banged open, and the heavy curtain bulged inwards, but didn’t give.

“Shitbollocksfuck” came a voice from behind it. There was a rustling and a flailing and then a heavy thumping crash, followed by a sigh. “Can someone please come open the sodding curtain for me” the voice sounded defeated.

“Jack you’re a mess” said Alec as he crossed the pub and flung the curtain wide. A man was standing in the doorway, surrounded by a pile of logs strewn across the floor in the entryway.

“A proper mess” he replied, and the two started to pick up the logs as the others laughed at the bar.

“Where’d you go for those Jack? You were gone for years!”

“Bit of an exaggeration…” he muttered as he made his way across the pub with one arm full. He threw two of them onto the fire which snapped and crackled happily, flames licking at the fresh fuel in delight. “Well some moron hasn’t rebuilt the log store so all the ones at the front are covered in snow now” he placed the rest of the logs by the fire, Alec stacked his on top. “So I had to go chop these from the big ones in the stable.”

“My hero” said Dan, putting on a high pitched voice.

“Fuck off, and if you eat too many of those you’re going to become a lump of dough” he pointed at the fourth roll Dan was now holding in his hand. He looked at it, then shrugged and continued to slather on the butter, a comedic look of excitement across his face.

“And if that happens I’ll eat myself too” he said with relish. I smiled at him.

“We thought you’d been abducted” Hector said from behind the bar, but Jack ignored him, his eyes had found me out as the stranger in the group.

“Hello” he held his hand out to me and it took me a second to realise that I should shake it. “I’m Jack” he said, making some quite intense eye contact

“Oi!” Hector said from behind the bar, the others were smirking “I will get the spray bottle if you don’t behave” he said, Jack grinned and let go of my hand, sitting down at the bar

“Just being friendly” he said with a smile at me. I blushed, he was quite handsome and despite not being exactly ‘my type’ the intensity of his attention made me suddenly feel very hot in the warmth of the fire.

“Sorry about him” Seb said, handing his pint glass over to Hector to be refilled, and giving Jack a quick cuff round the head “we forgot to get him neutered as a pup and now he’s a bloody menace”

“Awoooo”

“Christ. Anyway, like I said, shower time” Alec said again

“See you later darling” the barman called after him with a grin

“Not if I see you first!” he shouted back as he disappeared down the corridor.

The group settled back into easy conversation, Jack despite the somewhat salacious introduction was perfectly pleasant thereafter, again fitting in comfortably. The conversation flowed and I could feel the first beer misting my mind in that soft way that a first pint will, tickling at the corners of your consciousness. Calmness and relaxation washed over me as I leant on the bar, the storm outside now a distant nuisance.

***

End of part 2

Crossed Keys Part 1 - The Running Man

The wheels spun on the icy track, making a grinding whining sound as the rubber failed to find traction. “Come on come on” I muttered through gritted teeth, the car didn’t listen though. The hill was too steep, the rough country asphalt too slick as another flurry of snow trickled down. The wheels spun, the clutch ground and howled but the little Ford Ka engine was taking me nowhere. Admitting defeat I took my foot off the accelerator and let myself roll and slip gently back down the hill. No-one else was stupid enough to be out in this weather so I just let it slowly take it’s own course back, thinking about what I could do next. This was the only road North to Stromont House, the imposing country house currently being haunted by my sickening Aunt. ‘Silly old bitch’ I thought, then immediately fely guilty. But why couldn’t she live somewhere sensible, somewhere less pretentious than a half sized stately home that you need a tank or helicopter to even get to. I didn’t even want to go to the damn will hearing, everyone knew my grandma had left everything to her anyway; this was just a way of her flexing her new wealth over the rest of the family. I shuddered, thinking of that crotchety old spinster coiled up like the snake she was in her frustratingly pleasant green leather armchair. I sighed as the car came to a standstill. To be fair, the house was lovely, it was only the occupant that wasn’t and now that Grandma had gone, there was little point in fighting through all this white bullshit to get there in time.

A knock on the window brought me out of my reverie with a start, the car now safely at a stop at the base of the hill. A man was crouched next to me, waving through the slightly misted windows.

“Everything alright miss?” he asked, his pleasantly posh accent slightly muffled behind the glass. I wound it down a crack, icy air blasting through, sapping the heat from my hands almost instantly. “Do you need any help?” the man asked again, his features too blurred to get a proper view of him though it looked for all the world like he was in running kit. I wanted to confirm this but like hell was I winding the window down further and exposing myself to the elements any more than necessary.

“Well not really” I replied, pulling my sleeves up over my knuckles to protect them from the outside air.

“Car trouble?”

“Road trouble, poor thing hasn’t even got the traction to get over the hill” I said frowning.

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t matter even if it did, I’ve just come from up there and there’s a tree down about half a mile on and looking at this” he held a hound out to emphasise the snow falling lightly onto his palm “I doubt there’s any way the council is getting through to clear it today.”

“Fuck” I said, absently and a little louder than necessary. The man chuckled.

“I’d head back if I were you, there’s no way round, maybe try again tomorrow?”

“Well I can’t really go back, I’ve already been on the road 6 hours; I’ve got nowhere it’s possible to ‘go back to’. I mean, it’s just bloody typical isn’t it?” I said, slamming the car wheel in frustration. ”Six hours of driving and now that I’m only an hour away I’m stuck in the bloody snow, ready to freeze to death and die.” The man laughed, standing and stretching, making me lose my train of thought. “Are you wearing shorts?” I blurted out. He chuckled again.

“There’s nothing like a chilly run to get you ready for an evening’s work” he said, a smile clear in his voice. “Tell you what, rather than sitting here in the cold fretting, I happen to know of a good little pub about half a mile down the road, I’d be happy to show you the way?” I frowned again, a strange man getting in my car and taking me down a country lane? Seemed like the start of one of Steven Kings lesser known horrors. Before I had time to reply however he turned and waved me forward “come on, I’ll lead” he called back as he set off, jogging down the heavily hedged road I’d come up.

I couldn’t help but laugh, how delightfully innocent and somewhat bizarre. With a snap decision I slowly turned my little car and trundled off after him. I could only see his back and he didn’t turn as I caught up, content to casually continue his run as if I wasn’t even there. He was quite tall, long legs striding out in a slightly awkward gait. He was clearly a good runner, but not a natural sportsman, lacking the grace or definition in his jog that those who are born to it have. A messy thatch of long brown hair bobbed gently on his head, flecked with white snowflakes catching and quickly melting as his breathe fogged out evenly in front of him. He seemed happy, and I found myself smiling. We continued along for a few minutes, turning off the ‘main road’ if you could call it that and onto a smaller lane, a brown sign pointing the way to ‘The Cross Keys Public House’. Well at least he hadn’t been lying about the pub, though it was surprising that a one would be able to survive this far out in the sticks, the nearest major town was a good 45 minutes away and nothing but sleepy villages nearby. It was about as isolated as you could be in modern Britain.

We slowly drove on, the gentle flurries of snow quite beautiful in the soft light of the late afternoon. I could kind of understand why he was out running in this, it was remarkably peaceful, the high hedges on each side dark without their leaves, the trees stark in their winter dress but not intimidating or ugly. It was a perfect winter charm, soft and quiet and with a pleasantly gentle feeling to it all, the atmosphere mirroring the lightness of the snow, bringing in calm all around us. I still cranked up the heating a little though. Another brown sign pointed off the lane and we turned, him leading with breath now a little more ragged, onto a short dirt drive, the snow luckily not melting and so the frozen mud hadn’t quite become a quagmire just yet. We came out of the hedges and into a clearing, a large lawn concealed by white spread out on either side as the drive coiled round and down into a small depression,.

Nestled in that dip in the earth, in the middle of the large open lawn was the most perfect cluster of buildings I’ve ever seen.

Now I’ve been to London a fair bit, I’ve been to New York, Moscow, all sorts of fantastic cities with incredible sky scrapers and marvels of modern technology. This was not one of those buildings. This was a squat, thatched, wood and flagstone piece of perfection. The walls were so low, so sunken into the ground that the reed-covered roof which protruded from the main building was almost scraping the gravelled ground around it. The walls were dark stone, mottled with ancient daubing, the occasional piece of masonry crumbling off the outside. The dark wooden door at the front was half submerged, worn steps leading down, a large stack of logs leaning up against the wall next to it, protected by the overhanging roof. To the back a small copse of trees stood above the a set of ancient brick and dark wooden stables which disappeared behind the main building. The arms of the trees reached down to brush the roof lightly in the soft breeze, a thin coil of smoke lazily making its way up through their branches, dancing on air currents as it flowed from the large stone chimney. As I drove down to the small gravelled car-park, hearing it grind and crackle under the wheels I couldn’t help but grin. The pub exuded charm, country quaintness and a stoic Britishness that was as old as the hills it sat in. It looked like an ancient Saxon meeting hall that had survived the ages, outlived invasions and economic crashes, kings and queens, changes beyond count and would go on well beyond my lifetime. It was as part of the landscape as the grass and trees and hedges around.

I pulled to a stop beside an old beaten up Citroen 2CV and a mid-70s Land Rover. The two cars fit the aesthetic of the pub much better than the more modern collection further down, so it only felt right to park by them. In all about 6 cars including mine were there, by no means filling the gravelled space. The man came up besides my car as I pulled up and switched the engine off. “Come on in when you’re ready and make yourself comfortable, I’ll be down in a minute” and he was gone again, making his way into the squat building behind and leaving behind an air of mystery. I sat in the car for a minute, looking out at the snow falling on the bonnet. I smiled again, but I wasn’t too sure why. The windscreen misted up quickly and I put on my gloves and hat. Seeing how fast the snow was accumulating I reached back and threw on my coat too, the massive hood flapping down over my eyes, fur tickling my chin and nose as I pulled it back again. Deep breathe and out we go.

It was bitingly cold, how the hell was that man only in shorts and t-shirt? I take everything back I had previously said, this was not relaxing, this was masochistic. Even running it must have been freezing! The snow crunched threateningly under my feet as I broke into a light, precarious jog, hugging my hands to my chest as my breath fogged out in front of me as I made my way to the door round the front. The glass in the low windows was warped and ancient, impossible to see anything through but for the vague shapes of tables and a flicker of orange flame. It appeared empty. Rounding the corner I almost burst through the door in my haste to get out of the cold and immediately got tangled in a heavy curtain that was hanging over it. I flailed slightly, trying to maintain my balance as I fought to get free of the thick fabric, which clung to my coat, but alas, I am not a graceful person. I fell through the curtain backwards and landed arse first with a thump on the dark wooden floor of the pub. I sat for a second, stunned in my clumsiness before quickly hopping to my feet and looking around. Mercifully, blissfully, it was completely empty. Which I suppose just begged the question of ‘where’d the runner go?’

Dusting myself off I immediately realised the temperature difference, it was warm in the pub, beautifully warm, enough to make the skin tingle a little as I took a closer look around the room I had just fallen into. ‘Holy shit’ I thought. It was astonishing. If I had thought the outside was gorgeous, the inside was a whole other level. Far from being short and squat like I would have expected, the entire inside was open, the room going right up to the rafters, a dramatic hall with wooden walls and exposed beams stretching up. Slightly off centre, closer to the door was an enormous stone walled fire pit, looking something like an old filled in well, holding flames rather than water. It was glowing quietly with a metal chimney hovering over the top, collecting the smoke and sending it up and away into the cold air outside. Around the fire was a whole collection of various different chairs and tables, an eclectic mix of all sorts of different styles and types, wooden dining chairs next to leather armchairs, little three legged milk stools balanced precariously opposite a sofa. The tables were all warped and ancient, wood and metal hulks that looked as though they were part of the building. Taking pride of place down the centre on the other side of the fire was an enormous table, thick wooden blocks bound together with black iron bands and studs, ten seats of various bizarre design down each side. Looking off to the left, the entire wall was covered in bookshelves, books upon books lining the wooden panelling in that muted yet variable colouring that is for some reason so pleasurable to the human eye. The other side of the room had little wooden booths, high walled cubby holes that looked like they belonged in some ancient church providing a more private seating experience than the rest of the eclectic tangle of chairs and tables. Hanging from the beams and roof above, and adorning the spaces of wall that weren’t covered with books was all sorts of bizarre memorabilia, knick knacks and nickabrack of all varieties; guitars, old football boots, a rugby ball, what looked like a wooden discus, violins, an old garden hoe, a small model tractor and even more bizarre instruments, sports gear and odds and ends providing a chaotic brilliance that the eyes couldn’t look away from. Finally, across the room in front of the far wall was the bar. The bar itself was wooden, growing out of the dark warped floorboards like some ancient tree stump but over the bar top was a cover of burnished copper, shining, glistening in the glow of the fire and the hanging lights above. Behind it the stacks and stacks of spirit bottles stood proud, labels adding to the colour of the books, with a couple of large barrels to either side of them. One door to the right and one door to the left of the bar were the only sign that there was more to the pub than the room I was in.

I drank it, ate the atmosphere. Even empty the room felt alive with character. Looking round my eyes couldn’t settle on one thing, there was too much to see, too much to enjoy.

“Can I take your coat? Or would you rather stand in the door a little longer?” A voice shouted out from across the room. I jumped, I hadn’t noticed the man standing off to the left of the room, a glass in his hands watching me with a small smile. I collected myself and smiled back, weaving my way over through the mass of chairs and tables.

“The running man I assume?”

“Most people call me Hector” he replied as I made it to the bar. “Your coat?” I realised I was warm, the huge goose down jacket unnecessary with the warmth of the fire. Passing it over I looked at him properly for the first time. He was handsome, in a gentle kind of way, strong jawline with high cheek bones, but a little bit of cheek that softened his features. His eyes were a deep brown and smile lines fought with frown lines round them. Were I at all interested in men I may have enjoyed the sight a little more. He smiled and disappeared through the bar door to hang my coat up. I took a seat on one of the high stools and peered at the beer taps, the pump clips a mix of well-known British brands and some hand written labels with names like ‘Swarvy Lighthouse’ and ‘Buddle’s Bitler’. One was called ‘I Thought Out meant Out?’ which made me chuckle.

"Admiring our tipples?” Hector said as he came back in, the bar door clacking on its double hinges.

“It really is quite the collection” there must have been 20 different beers on tap there, impressive but seemingly wildly impractical, how they received enough turnover to stay fresh in a place like this was beyond me.

“Beer’s always been a favourite of mine” he said with a smile, absently rubbing a new glass with a tea-towel “being able to brew and sell your own is a real dream come true”.

“You brew your own?”

“Oh yes, the ones like this” he tapped one of the clips which had ‘Dancing Dubin’ scrawled across it, “are brewed out the back. When we took over there were a couple of rundown stables out and it just made sense. You should have tried the first couple of rounds, they were utterly undrinkable.” He let out a little giggle at the memory.

“What do the names mean?” I said, frowning at the closest clip.

“Ah, well if you hang around a little while maybe you’ll find out” he had a twinkle in his eye as he placed the glass down and picked up another. “Speaking of, what brings you all the way out here? Where are you trying to get to in such inclement weather?” I sighed and looked out the thick windows, the snow was now heavily flurrying against them.

“I’m on my way up to Stromont, the big house up in the dales” he lifted an eyebrow but stayed quiet “I’m supposed to be up at the house this evening, but that’s looking pretty unlikely.” I sighed again “just my luck, not only do I have the stress of dealing with my bloody family, but I’ve also got to deal with them being all judgy because I’m turning up late. It’s not my fault I don’t drive a damn Chelsea Tractor.” He smiled at my indignation. “It’s a shame though; I would have liked to have been there tonight, if only to have seen Aunty Audrey’s stupid surprised face when I turned up a day early.” He looked at me for a second then put the glass down and walked over to a draw. He pulled out a bottle and two crystal glasses and poured a small amount of the golden spirit into each one.

“Not one for change is Audrey” he said with a slightly sad smile, as he came back. “So I assume you must be one of Margaret’s grandchildren then? Are you Charlie or Ash?” I was a little caught off guard

“Er, Ash”

“Well Ash, I really am sorry.” he held one of the glasses out to me. I was slightly knocked off my feet, how did he know about Grandma? About Audrey? They were absolutely not the sort to venture further than the grounds of the house so how did a random pub bloke this far from Stromont know who they were, who I was?

“Thank you?” I said, taking the glass. He held his up to me and then drained it, without knowing what to say I followed suit.

Fuck me it was good whiskey.

It tasted like a moss coated forest, one where sunlight barely penetrates. It tasted like reading a book in a wood panelled library, the smell of oak and wood-polish soft in the air as you sit in your green leather armchair. The heat of it slowly spread down my throat and across my chest, warming my insides in a way that the low fire never could, the aftertaste mellow and glowing, like the last embers in a wood-burning stove.

“Goddamn” I whispered, looking into the empty glass.

“You’ve got your grandmother to thank for that one” Hector said, taking the glass back and putting them in the sink. “She gave that to me a year ago, seems fitting to share it with her granddaughter.” I was about to open my mouth to ask a question, but there were so many jumbling around that I couldn’t get the words out before he started up again. “Right. It’s settled then. This snow isn’t going anywhere by the looks of things and that means no-one’s coming to clear the road for us, so Stromont is officially out of bounds for the night.” He slapped the bar and stood up straight, going over to a rack of keys hanging from a board. “If you’d like though, we have several rooms available at the back and we’ll be getting the kitchen going in an hour or so, you are more than welcome to stay for the night and then tomorrow we’ll get you back on the road, come hell or high water.” I didn’t know what to say, which was becoming a bit of a theme that afternoon.

I took a breath and thought about it, to be honest it seemed like the only real possibility, the tree meant there was no going forward, and the heavy snow meant going back was pointless. I glanced around myself, there certainly were worse places to be stuck in and perhaps it was the whiskey warming my stomach but I shrugged and smiled at the man, who grinned back, his face lighting up the room more than the fire ever could. For some reason I wanted to see where this night would go, there was a lot going on here and I’d never been one to shy away from figuring out a good story.

“Screw it, why not? How much does a room cost?” he held up his hand and turned away.

“You’re Ashley Blake, granddaughter of Margaret Blake, that makes you royalty to us, and royalty doesn’t pay.” I blinked. “Follow me, I’ll take you to your room” and with that I was staying at the Cross Keys.

***

End of Part 1

Space Junk - Crossover

Neural implant trace of Broker IV - AM Mining Operative 77c-Pe52 

*Audio file: -"Hm"-*  

Nope there's not a lot else I can really think of saying right now. 

*Audio file: -"Hm"-*  

What was that quote again? From that book I read in the archives on Broker IV once. The one about Hitchhiking.  

*Information prompt: -'Space is big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind - bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the road to the chemist's, but that's just peanuts to space'-*  

Ha! That was it. 

Being a miner I think I must have laughed a bit at this. I used to figure that my frequent trips back and forth from the AM fields to Broker IV had given me a pretty good perspective on just how big space is. Clamped to the rusting hull of the Persephone, banging away at a bit of extra plating I would occasionally look up and see just how utterly vast space was. I remember looking out into the eternal nothing, the speckling of stars bright against the pure vanta-black blanket and smiling. Then I would just go back to hammering away at the old piece of scrap, whistling whatever idiot tune was stuck in my head at the time and not really giving it the proper consideration that it so clearly deserves. 

Yes Space is Big, big with a capital B. But I don't think I ever truly appreciated that capital B until right now. I mean look at it!  

*Audio file: -"Hm"-* 

I have to say though that space is particularly Big when you're just stuck floating in it.  

Looks like I'll be stuck here for good as well, once you're stranded out in nothing it's not like you can put a thumb up and get a lift, it's not like that book. I'm not about to go swimming off through a vacuum. Wait can you swim through a vacuum? 

*Audio file: - strained grunting sounds -* 

Nope. Apparently not, I'm just flailing at nothing here. Well there's some scientific research at least. 

I suppose even if I could there's the whole 'space is Big' thing again. I can barely swim half a kilometre without becoming a panting quivering wreck of bad cardio and half a kilometre isn't very far when you measure things in lightyears. I wonder how many half kilometres there are in a lightyear? 

*Information prompt: -'1.8922e+13' half kilometres to a lightyear-* 

Yes, thank you suit you snarky bastard, that was meant to be rhetorical.  

Ah well, at least I'm not actually moving all that much, I've seen fast space junk can spin at just the slightest shove. I get terrible motion sickness and don't really want to spend the rest of my life spinning wildly as a pool of my own vomit sloshes around inside my helmet. Oh god don't think about that... 

*Audio file: -Loud retching sound-* 

Nope nope nope, quick, think about something else.  

Hey that cluster of stars kind of looks like a dick... Wait... Yup that's a full shaft and balls right there. Christ I'm a mature. But it really does, look I'll highlight it for you.  

*Image file enclosed: -censored-* 

Ha ha ha, as if my final communication is going to be an interstellar dick pic.  

Urgh, my final communication. There's a happy thought.  

It's funny, I’m not sure why I'm acting like this. People say that humour is a coping mechanism and right now I'm inclined to believe them, the more I think about all this stupid shit the less I'm thinking about... well.  

Oh god but it is beautiful out here.  

You think of space as being pitched nothingness, blackness on blackness with nothing but eternity between you and everything else, but it isn't you know? It's bright, space is so bright! Just over there to my left is the galactic core, the stars so densely packed together they've formed a sort of fuzzy white orb that's been smudged along its axis, splashing in opposite directions to fly outwards into the glowing arms. They're like huge sweeping brushstrokes painted with the fundamental building blocks of the universe. Some ancient deity took their brush and painted over the blackness to create a galactic artwork glinting and shining as it fades gradually to either side, splattering stars and nebulae in smatterings all across the black canvas. There's no curves to it all either, no fuzziness or flickering, it's not like being planetside where there's lensing effects from atmosphere and curvature of the ground beneath you to provide perspective. No out here it's pure light, a sweeping mass that is so immeasurably... I was about to say Big again. Ha! 

*Audio file: -loud snorting sound-* 

But it's not just the macro of the galaxy that's beautiful, just there over my right shoulder there's all sorts of wild and wacky cosmic goings on, mostly dotted stars but also what looks like an old Nebula, a stellar nursery. It's close enough just to make out the different colours if I zoom with the suit HUD. I suppose if I was much closer I'd probably be vaporised by the weirder parts of the laws of physics so I'm pretty happy I'm this far out to be honest. But what colours those are! It's like a collection of all the different pallets of the old masters that's been blended together and then flung through lightyears of dust to create the most imperfectly glorious art work that certainly I've ever seen.  

Wow listen to me, waxing all poetic like this. My mum used to...  

*Audio file: -brief choking sound-* 

My mum... she always used to say that I was wasted on the mining Junks, that I could have been an academic working at some fancy Academy on a Republic core world. I'd then have to remind her that I was in fact expelled from one of those very same Academies for being too 'energetic'. Mining certainly sated some of those energies, and the nightlife back on Broker IV sated the rest! Though I'm quite sure it anything but sated Mum's aspirations for me. But that shows what she knows, I'm damn good at my job, I'm the youngest engineer on Broker IV! Well I think I was for a time at least, they don't exactly keep records of these things and I've been doing it a while, so I'm a bit older now.

Not old enough though... Not old enough for this... Jesus why the fuck is this happening I'm going to die, I'm going to fucking die. Mum I'm... 

*Trace record cut: -37 seconds-* 

Yup, mining engineer is what I was born to be, no-one can keep those damn heaps of scrap floating like I can, I belong out there, on the hulls of the Junkers, keeping them flying, keeping the antimatter flowing into Faction space. The Factions don't have the fancy Oan-Dyson spheres the Republic does so they need energy the old-fashioned way, and it's me that keeps the lights on. Sure it may not keep mum happy, but it certainly keeps me happy.  

*Audio file: -quietly "kept"-* 

It's funny, dying is always something that seems to happen to other people. Death is a statistic on a news vid or something harrowing that happens to someone you know. When dad died I remember feeling... well just hollow. Anger, pain, hardship, all these things. But his death didn't happen to me, it was something that had an effect on me but... I'm not sure what I'm trying to say really. I think it's strange how we can experience everything else that anyone else can, every cause and effect every moment in life we share with everyone else, hand in hand with the billions of other souls that've ever felt the same before or will again in the future. Death though. Your death happens to you once and only to you, no-one that has ever been or will be will be able to have that experience and so when I step over the threshold to non-existence, I'll be doing it alone. 

I suppose there are worse ways to die, the suit tells me that life support can keep me hydrated and breathing for another 26 standard hours, after which I'll just slowly slip away from hypoxia as the CO2 levels rise. Not so bad. Then I'll be drifting in space forever, a tiny speck of space junk floating in infinity. Maybe one day I'll smack onto the windscreen of some trade vessel, that'd give them a shock! Ahahaha, Splat! Like a giant bug smearing across the glass. If there is a God then please let that happen.  

Shit, I suppose I'll be finding out the answer to that one pretty soon as well, now there's a weird thought. The question that philosophers throughout history have all fought with and I'm about to find out the answer. 'Is there a God' ha ha, fuck you Nietzsche.  

It is beautiful out here though. There's so much to see, and the longer you focus at a point the more emerges from the nothingness, it's wonderful. Part of me thinks I should take a 360' pic for whoever finds this, but perhaps that would detract from the personal nature of this a little? No, I think I won't, this is my spot in heaven, these are my stars and I'm going to keep it that way. Only I will know exactly how the constellations stand out in certain ways at this moment, only I will know the exact colours and shapes of this little corner of space, and when I go that information will go too. I'm sorry if that seems a little selfish. 

I hope there is a God you know. I hope this isn't the end, that it isn't just nothingness after. I.... yeah I hope there's a God... I hope they're kind... I'd like... I think I'd like a little kindness at the moment. 

*Audio file: -quiet sobbing-* 

Fuck this. You know what fuck this, Jesus fuck. This can't be it, I can't be about to die, this isn't the end it's not. I don't want to die here I don't want to die, what if there's nothing what if it's just nothing after. I'm so fucking scared I'm so fucking scared I'm so scared, I don't want to go, Jesus FUCK 

*Audio file: -"No No NOOOO please god NOOOOOOOOO! ARGH! FUUUUUUUCK!"-  

*Audio file: -loud screaming- * 

*Audio file: -quiet sobbing-* 

-"I don't want to go. Please help. Please. Mum. Someone please. Please help, I don't... I can't..."-*

*Trace record cut: -29 minutes 42 seconds-* 

It's funny, I know I should probably be thinking about my family, my old friends, love interests past and future. But in all honesty the only thing I can focus on is that I left a bloody rivet loose during my last botch job and now I'll never get round to tightening it. That and my knee itches, seriously who gets an itchy knee, that's like the weirdest bit to get itchy. 

*Inactivity: -7 minutes-* 

You know what, 26 hours is a long time to float around waiting for the end.  

Did you ever find a piece of music? Something that you listened to a few times and it was so beautiful, more than just chills down the spine but full on emotional overload from the first listen, because of an event it's tied to or just the way the music works with your soul. Do you ever find a song like that and you stop listening to it after a couple of plays through because you're afraid that you'll get sick of it and you'll lose that feeling? I've found three pieces of music like that, ones that I've saved for... well I guess I was saving them for right now, although I didn't know it at the time.  

*Audio file –deep breath-*       

Mum if by some miracle you get this before you pop your clogs and come join me wherever I am, there's a million and one things that I want to say to you and as you know, if I get started I'll never bloody stop. All I will say instead then is thank you, you've been perfect through every part of my life, both good and bad and you will never begin to understand how deep my love for you goes. I love you.  

To the people who eventually find me, I'm sorry I splattered on your windscreen, bill me.  

And to anyone who is listening to this in the future, please make sure it gets back to my family, however many generations on it is, I think they'd like to hear what happened to me, even if it's just a curiosity. Oh and sorry for all the swearing.  

Actually no I'm not, fuck you.  

*Input instruction: -play Playlist: The Last 3-* 

Oh wow this... is an amazing song, I'm so glad I saved this. 

*Inactivity: -2 minutes-* 

*Input instruction: -Disable life support system: air purification-* 

*Warning note: -Carbon dioxide levels rising-* 

*Input instruction: -Mute all warning notes-* 

*Warning note (muted): -Carbon dioxide levels rising-* 

*Warning note (muted): -Carbon dioxide levels rising-* 

*Warning note (muted): -Carbon dioxide levels rising-* 

*Audio file: -"It really is beautiful out here you know."-* 

*Warning note (muted): -Carbon dioxide levels rising-* 

*Warning note (muted): -Carbon dioxide levels above safe breathing level-* 

*Warning note (muted): -Carbon dioxide levels above safe breathing level-* 

*Warning note (muted): -Carbon dioxide levels above safe breathing level-* 

*Warning note (muted): -resuscitation attempt unsuccessful-* 

*Warning note (muted): -Carbon dioxide levels above safe breathing level-* 

*Warning note (muted): -resuscitation attempt unsuccessful-* 

*Passive note: -Playlist: -The Last 3 ended-* 

*Warning note (muted): -Carbon dioxide levels above safe breathing level-* 

*Warning note (muted): -resuscitation attempt unsuccessful-* 

*Neural trace activity reduced to zero. Entering shutdown.*

*End Trace.* 

Pale Walls pt. 4

Via del Corso was a hive of activity, thronging pedestrians overflowed the narrow pavements creating bottlenecks of cars and scooters with horns screaming and drivers shouting. He wove his way through them, like a grain of sand filtering through a jar of marbles. When he had first arrived in Rome Jasper had been utterly perplexed by the manner in which the locals and tourists alike seemed to meander gently along the roads. Now though he was all elbows and decisive purpose. He had never lived in London but he felt that this must be how Londoners all walked, with a very specific destination in mind and a quiet disdain for those moving slowly and enjoying themselves. 

He made quick time heading North, only knocking over several meandering Americans as he forged forward, passing by several big name highstreet shops crammed next to the souvenir stands and ancient museums. He cut across the road, dancing around a swerving taxi and came to the sho. The Zara in Rome was a true marvel of millennial culture, a tribute to cheaply, questionably made clothing that was unarguably very fashionable, if skinny jeans and floral shirts were your vibe. Which they were for Jasper. 4 floors worth of 'hip' clothes rose up in an gutted old block of apartments, light streaming in to illuminate the excited Italian tweens, tired looking parents and sheepish looking young adults pretending that they didn’t secretly really want to try on the red velvet trilby.  

He pushed his way through the large glass double doors and was immediately assaulted with a blast of air conditioning. The security guards were wearing full black suits and still looked chilly, one of them was even wearing a jumper over his shirt. It was one thing that the Italians had sluggishly allowed to encroach on their culture from America, the liberal use of air-conditioning. Only in the large highstreet shops mind you, in back alley boutiques you still had to lump it with the sweat glands that god gave you.  

He wove his way amongst the rows of colourful sun dresses as he thought to himself how many possible types of skinny jeans could one brand produce when he felt a tap on his right shoulder. He spun to turn to the offender but noone was there, however this was a trick he was accustomed to having gone to Boarding school and so managed to play it off with a dramatic flourish as he completed his spin full circle to come face to face with Ele and Em.  

"Alright dickhead?" He said smiling at Emily, but before she could reply Ele had rushed forward and swept him into a rib crushing embrace.  

"JASPAAAAAAAAR!" She squeeled, pressing herself into him. Jasper couldn't help but grin. Ele was the most un self-conscious, loving and all around brilliant person that God had had the good sense to put legs onto. Simply put, she was a mother to the whole world. She cared so deeply for every person that you couldn't help but fall in love with her in every sense, her energy made her irresistible, not to mention her incredible capacity for organising fantastic nights out and weekends away. Most of all though she was kind, her capacity for kindness and seeing the good in others was superhuman, far more deserving of a novel or screenplay than any jumped up comicbook character.  

Emily liked gin with little swirls of cucumber in it, and for that reason she was the best person Jasper had met in Rome yet. Besides this sheseemed to be one of the few ex pats apart from himself that still possessed that abrasive dry sarcasm that sets an Englishman aside from all other nationalities. Over gin and self-deprecating humour him and Emily had spent many evenings bonding whilst all the Italians sat and swapped fatuous compliments.  

He grinned at Emily over Ele's head and she rolled her eyes.  

"It's good to see you Ele, but can I have my lungs back please?" He asked, feigning breathlessness. She gave him a last affectionate squeeze then stepped back. Emily swept in and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. 

"That's all you get" she said stepping back again and pretending to look at a nearby dress.  

"It's no more than I would expect" Jasper replied with a slight mocking bow. They all had a little giggle and then steamed off into conversation about dresses. It was the easy conversation of three people who were totally relaxed together. It was a bizarre thing, Jasper had often thought, he had only known these people for a comparatively short time, particularly when compared to friends back in the UK and yet the strangeness of their situation had meant that he would probably class these two women as his closest friends, people he wouldn't hesitate to say would move heaven and earth to help him. These were friends for life, despite their questionable tastes in sundresses. 

"Oh please Ele, that?" He asked, channeling his best Trini and Suzanna, hand on hip, eyebrows raised in disgust.   

"What? Not Yellow enough?" Asked Ele, holding the lurid canary dress against herself and making a little grinning twirl.  

"It's not that, it's just I think the sun might get a little jealous that you're stealing it's job" Em snorted whilst fingering the hem of a floral pattern set of aladin pants. 

"Now you see Em here has true taste" 

"Fuck off Jasper" 

"No really look at these, the texture, the colour clashes" he picked the trousers up and did a little dance that was probably borderline racist.  

"Fuck off Jasper" Em repeated, in the same tone. 

She ended up buying the trousers. Ele had been paid that week and the cash was burning a hole in her pocket, so she left the shop sporting a rather fetching Hepburn-esque hat and four large bags, two of which she had deposited on Jasper who hadn't been paid in what felt like three months so was happy to carry her shopping.  

"Right then" Ele said, beaming up and down the length of Via del corso, illuminating the street as she did. "I think it's picnic weather don't you?" She spun to the other two, it wasn't a question, it was an inspired idea that of course we were going to go along with. Jasper checked his watch. Initially he wasn't sure why then he remembered with a start of his heart. In the excitement he had almost forgotten the fascinations of the morning. A wave of pleasure and something akin to adrenaline washed over him as the irrational thought that he was late was quickly quelled by realising that obviously he still had several hours until he was due to go meet Giulia.  

"You alright Jasper?" Asked Em, looking at him with a half smirk and a cocked eyebrow. 

"I'm fine I just... I had forgotten about something" 

"Oh yeah?" It was an invitation to continue, but he merely smiled sheepishly. 

"Ohhhhh no you're not getting off that easy" Ele took one arm in her bag laden one 

"Yup. Spill" Em took the other and they began frogmarching up the road, heading north again. 

"You've got until Del Popolo to tell us, then I'm afraid we'll have to resort to drastic measures." Jasper didn't know what 'drastic measures' were but the two women were infinitely imaginative whilst also dangerously in sync. He smiled. 

"Well. You remember I mentioned that girl in the bar near mine?" He started, Em immediately rolled her eyes and let go of his arm 

"What, did she give you a smile when she handed you your third beer?"  

"Did she laugh when you made a joke about the table clothes?" 

"Maybe she touched your arm as she walked by to a nearby table and now she's obviously head over heels for you?" He grinned, 

"More than that actually" he proceeded to explain the events of the morning. The women, to their credit let him go on with only the smallest quivers of laughter twitching at the corners of their mouths. He finished and the two of them gave each other a look. 

"Well..." Began Ele 

"Who knew stalking would ever actually pay off!" 

"Hey!" Exclaimed Jasper, genuinely a little hurt. 

"Oh come on it was a little stalkerish... You always in the bar, hoping she'd talk to you but never starting a conversation yourself." Em looked at him accusingly, Ele frowned. 

"No I think it was sweet! It's not like he was following her home, he's Jasper, he couldn't hurt a fly" 

"Not sure why you said couldn't instead of wouldn't there Ele" he muttered but the two went on ignoring him. 

"Sweet?"  

"Yeah, sweet. It's like he's happy to just be there in her company, I think it's romantic." 

"Yeah if your idea of romance is a love-sick puppy" 

"Please, I don't think puppies have the kinds of thoughts that this one does" she pointed a thumb at him accusingly. 

"Will you two...?" Jasper started ove rthe top of their now raucous laughter. "Cackling witches" he muttered again but couldn't help but grin too.  

"We're kidding J." Em said recovering.  

"Of course, the only person's opinion that matters is hers. And clearly she likes it." 

"Really? You thing she likes me" Jasper asked, immediately regretting it as he had sounded like a beady eyed Disney character. Em clipped him round the back of the head. 

"Noone likes you idiot. Your personality is inherently unlikeable." 

"nooooo he's beautiful" Ele gave him a quick reassuring hug, which was only semi sarcastic.  

"You two are a bad dream"  

"Noone wants to know what you dream about" Emily sniped back with a smirk that he returned and the three of them walked on.  

These were the days he lived for in Rome. Regardless of his morning with Giulia, a Saturday afternoon with his bonkers friends could only ever be utterly brilliant. The girls got their phones out and were quickly sending the round robin texts to collect as many of their motley crew together as they could. There were always a few absentees but on a good day they could expect about 10 or so of them to answer the rallying cry.  

"Massi, Claudio and Ally will meet us there" 

"Veronica can't make it, she's still in Palermo" 

"Kave can't either which is a relief" 

"Still don't know why you invite him... Saoirse is in but maybe a little later" 

"Apparently Stef is already in Borghese" 

"So's Stefania, I wonder if they're together?"  

"No Stefania is with some friends, she asks if they can come?" 

"How pretty are they?" Interjected Jasper with a sly smile. 

"Too pretty for you" Emily cut back without looking up 

"What would Giulia say?" Ele said with a tut and shake of her head. Jasper rolled his eyes and left them to it, fishing a cigarette from his pocket. Their organisational capacity was truly astonishing. Most high-grade CEOs would struggle to collect their friend group together in a manner as efficient as the Emily – Ele partnership could. Jasper had tried to organise a night once and to say it had been like herding cats would be a gross understatement. It was like trying to heard cats which all lived in different countries and where only half of them could read the time whilst the other half were completely incapable of reading a map. He had delegated to Ele pretty quick and the team had been together within the hour.  

"Right" Em snapped her phone shut and looked up at the square around them before holding her hand out to Jasper for a cigarette. 

"They're menthol"  

"urgh" she made a face and retracted the hand again, pulling out her own rolling tobacco. They were standing in the centre of the Piazza Del Popolo, the grand square at the end of the theree main roads of the Old City, Via Del Corso the one they'd just come up, Via Di Ripetta which led down to the river to the West and Via Del Babuino which led to the Spanish Steps. It had been the Spanish Steps where Jasper had first stayed seven years ago as a teenager and there where he had first fallen in love with the city, so the area held a particular glow for him, beyond the ambient warmth of the cobbles.  

The Piazza itself was an ancient one, the original view into Rome for those who had arrived along the Roman Via Flaminia, which speared North to Rimini. A large Oblong specifically designed to instill awe it was often used as an entertainment space, parades would begin and end there, marathon runners would burst into the space for their finish and (historically) gruesome public executions were carried out on the greying cobbles. Today a couple of fire eaters were putting on a performance for a throng of tourists, adding flame-light to the already glaring orange of the daylight. Jasper wasn't sure what he thought about the square. It had a certain majesty for sure but he didn't find it colourful enough, it was all a little grey, a little too well structured, a little un-Italian. There wasn't enough of the higgledy-piggledy charm of some of the other districts that he found himself more drawn to. It did have one saving grace though: The Pincio. Curling up a winding road which doubled back on itself, you came to a little structured garden and temple-esque building which looked out over the piazza, and then sprawling back from there were the splendid Borghese Gardens. 

They were a marvel. Split into two halves, the closer half had been converted into a much more structured design, paths lined with statues and little cafes gave way to scrubbish grass, sprawling patios and little fairgrounds where children screamed and laughed in their hundreds, Nonnas looking on vaguely to make sure they brought home one that looked similar to their grandchild. Adding to the noise and excitement/peril were the tourists who had made the mistake of hiring out a peddle powered buggy. Notorious for the total lack of control over either speed or steering, pedestrians had to maintain a constant vigil for the sound of squeeling brakes and screaming passengers as the lurid yellow beasts careened around the corners of the paths, rarely settling on four wheels. The more sensible of the tourists would stick to the cheaply hired bicycles, far easier to manage as you would only get about five yards at any speed before one or both wheels fell off and you were stuck walking anyway.  

The second half of the park was the more 'garden-esque' however. Flowing out from the famous Borghese gallery, grass and hedgerows the envy of any well-manicured country home provided sanctuary for groups of Italians to sit and simply bask in the brilliance of their weather. Sunlight cascaded down to wash the lawns and sun-bathers alike, piercing through the sparse tree cover to burn the wanton tourist and bless the hardy local. Between the copses of trees and tangled hedges you could stumble onto any of the following:  

A small chapel, 

A large chapel,  

A lake complete with temple and rowing boats (a favourite spot for the romantics),  

A full sized gallops/chariot race track,  

A zoo,  

A cinema,  

An enormous statue of Garibaldi (the man not the biscuit),  

A couple of shrines to various Roman deities and  

An inch perfect reconstruction of Shakespeare's globe theatre, complete with poor production quality, dodgy 'modern takes' and massively inflated prices.  

If Piazza del Popolo was too 'structured' for Jasper, then the Villa Borghese gardens were the right balance of architectural beauty and Italian madness. It was the perfect spot for an afternoon of relaxing with a book, or for the three ex-pats trudging their way up the Pincio staircase, it was the ultimate destination for frivolity and feasting.  

The Creek

High Tide is at 10:47.  

The booklet says so, though the hive of activity would suggest closer to 10 on the dot. This concerned me. I wasn't sure why, phobias were a new feeling to me. Oh, I'd been afraid of things before, Mum had always laughed at telling how on the first day I'd ever seen snow, wrapped up in my full body fleece and snow boots, I'd stood on the front step shouting "snoooooo" at the top of my lungs, and then run away inside. Not to mention grass. Grass made me scream. So did walking, why walk when you could order others to do it for you? Management material Johnny had said and he was bloody right.  

Though with an hour to go before high tide I didn't feel much like management.

There's a real difference between a fear and a phobia. One is rational, it can be justified, people can explain fear away, they can tell you why it's wrong to feel that way and you can accept those reasonings. Fears can be overcome with rationale - coupled with a modicum of bravery. 

Phobias cannot. Phobias can be rational or irrational but ultimately phobias cannot be overcome by logic or rationale or anything that a slightly chubby 10 year old can produce.

I had a phobia of sailing in dinghies. 

This is a bizarre phobia I know, and no-one could quite highlight the point at which I had started to quake at the mention of mainsails and jibs - “could it have been the fateful capsize in foot-deep water at the hands of my uncle?” - “Could it have been the night I had stayed out in the boat that rocked a little too much on the midnight tide, despite the fact that it was safely tied to the house?” - “Could it have been nothing but a random occurrence that a slightly too sensitive child, moving through life looking for a tangible fear was able to latch onto?” - It was hard to pinpoint but what was certain was this: I was terrified of sailing. 

This phobia was rather complicated given my annual summer holiday arrangements. Every year my family would come up to Norfolk, a region of England renowned for rearing geese and taking great influence from the Dutch perspective on Geography. Especially though it was also quite well known for being stunningly beautiful and it was this beauty that had originally attracted my mother's early and rather extended family, the ties from which ensured that all those years late I was standing there, terrified, fists balled in worry as I looked on at the busy bodies of those around me in the kitchen of the decidedly grubby old boathouse we used as a holiday home each year.

My cousins milled around me, 15 utterly gorgeous, utterly terrifying women, screaming and laughing to one another, oblivious to my horror at the threat that bobbed in the water outside. Of course I knew that their laughter was in fact ‘cackling; as Johnny - the long time pro/antagonist of these weeks away - had informed me. As he pointed out to me in my vulnerable youth, a gathering of such women must only be described as a coven, or at the very least a gaggle. I also should point out that I also knew that they were gorgeous because Johnny had told me as much, given my age I would otherwise only have found them alien.

The terrifying part I had worked out for myself though. 

Johnny himself of course was our glorious engine-oil-covered, moth-eaten-jumper wearing mephistophalis-ian circus ringmaster. One might be tricked into thinking he was an adult; his silver hair, gruff looking exterior and whip like wit was more than enough to lull you into thinking that he had in fact grown up amongst reasonable adults with reasonable views. Our parents were all reasonably convinced that's for sure and Johnny would wear his masterfully crafted mask with a comfortable ease honed over years of false adulthood. He would converse and convince and sign cross-road contracts for the sould of us cousins until one of the more adult adults decided they wanted some time away from the unwashed hoards of children and suddenly, with a cry of "don't you worry now, it’s all in safe hands" the mask would gleefuly be discarded. Away the true adults would go, beguiled by the glamour of the man they would hop in their cars and disappear over the comparatively unattractive horizon to the south and Johnny would become his true self: the Rotadile. A named steeped in legends of Johnny Rotten and crocodiles - his jumpers had holes, his arms were coated in grease, his moped roared louder than a slaughtered herd and he fed us lemonade for a breakfast so diabolical it lives in familial infamy. The Greasy John Breakfast. To a young man like myself it was the ultimate breakfast: Bacon, Bacon, Sausage, Bacon, Ketchup, Lard, Butter, Bacon, Bread, Doughnuts, Lemonade, more Lard, Black pudding, Beans and grease from the previous meal's unwashed pan made every cousin start their morning as though they had been fed rocket fuel. 

Once it had been consumed though, the glow of the fat dripping from our pores reflecting off the sea borne sunlight, noisy stomachs fortified and amplified by calorie counts an Antarctic explorer would be jealous of the preparations for the days sailing would begin. It was now that a cold and inescapable fear would settle into me. 

I stood in the centre of the hubbub, grease sitting heavy in my stomach, confusingly manic cousins screaming to one another as the water licked at the sides of the house, the tide risen inexorably to the point of potential use by the bathtubs we pretended were boats - them and I pretended to look active. It was terrifying to me. Not the usual fear of a thing untried, the worry that a child could quantify or manage, but the pure impulse breaking terror of homo-sapiens uncontained by modern sensibility. It wasn’t only the physical presence of the boats and water though, I was only vaguely aware of at the time, it was also terrifying that these people might see me for what I was. Amazonian women strode by me, clasping ropes, life jackets and one another, laughing and enjoying themselves. I was terrified of nothing and more terrified that they would realise this. This was their joy, to go out and have fun in a boat that would never travel faster than a brisk walk, go in water no deeper than 12ft and made me so frightened that I would quake at the mention of it. There was no rationale. I knew - I had already created a good sense of the 3rd person at this stage - I knew how to analyse my own feelings and a situations from the outside, I had learnt to rationalise and understand at least some of my emotions, yet looking at this one situation there was nothing but swirling darkness and horror to me. Phobia.

I watched as they bounded into the boats. I stepped forward, I undid knots on the quayside, I threw ropes down to boats, I watched as they beckoned to me and I hopped from foot to foot in anxiety. They wanted me to join them, these wonder women, my family, my parents and brother didn't give a damn how I felt to their absolute credit. They wanted me to share their joy, and I was desperate to do so. Yet there was a barrier so powerful in mental anguish that it was almost physical to me, a block between me and those bath-tub boats and I could not hurdle it and so I cried and... I was ten, I did frustrated ten year old things.  

So I stood on the dock and watched, as I had for years. I stomped and I sobbed and I worried.

What I did was wait until my grandmother took my hand, as she had done before and hot tears fell down my face in my frustration. She didn't mind though, she offered the view that it was the sensible thing to do in fact, the option she always preferred, you see we were the walking party, we had the crucial job of taking the picnics to where the boats would be, we were critical to the operations of the day she assured me. We were the support party. We were content with our role in the day, happy together.

The causeway snaked away in front of us, hugging the tidal creek at some points and at some points rebelling from it to visit the marshland. Marshes that teemed with life.

It's a cliché to say but teeming is beyond accurate. Flocks of geese, ducks of varieties previously unseen beyond these particular spaces, insects as big as invading bombers, nature at its most raw and unendingly gorgeous. My gran pointed them out to me as we went, a healthy love and fearof nature showing them all off to me in their beauty and fury. It made walking feel like it wasn't the cowards option despite the overwhelming views that I perceived the rest of the family had. We walked and watched as the sails went by. We walked as my cousins and my brother shouted and laughed their way through the creek, the shallow waters and close coasts a place of play and joy to them.

I walked and my grandmother walked with me, held my hand and chatted easily to the scared child I was. It was easy for us all to miss that the reason that all these cousins so closely resembled a tribe of mythical warrior women was because they were descended from the lady that held my hand, our warrior queen, our original influence.

I was young but she never saw that. I was worried, tender and hurt by my fear and she didn't let it phase her. I walked the causeway and she held my hand because I needed her to and because she loved me. We walked, we spoke about the plethora of colours in the sky, growing my appetite for language and natural beauty. We spoke about which plants the caterpillars liked, honing in on a shared love and fascination of the natural world. We laughed about which cousin would capsize next, taking joy in our family that we both loved so dearly. At no point was I talking to someone who considered herself my superior as an adult and at no point did she act as though she was talking to a child. We were just talking to each other. We walked together for years, over sand, mud, creekwater and and left abject terror behind us. She held my hand for the years that we provided picnics, the years we were the excited audience for the sailing stories, secretly relieved that we hadn't had to deal with the excitement ourselves.  

On one such afternoon, much like the rest, we had arrived at the Grey Goose, an ancient wooden caravan that had long ago swapped its wheels for a floating platform so that now it rose with the water from the sand and settled with the tides. It was a perfect picnic spot. 

The sailors had come in and us walkers were just joining. Sandwiches (featuring actual sand) were being eaten, Johnny had managed to rally enough bedraggled looking crewmen and women that day to handle even the most woodwormy of boats with a sharkish grin and we sunned ourselves in the half-uncovered sunlight that Norfolk offered us that day, pushing our hands into the warm, fine sand.  

Me and my gran were happily engaging some cousins in conversation when the call to man the boats home came along with the ominous changing of tides and they suddenly jumped to life, forgetting what I had thought to have been a fascinating chat about samphire. The familiar feeling sat in my stomach then. Dread is unfair, fear is too light, coldness is most accurate. Just cold worry at the thought of leaving on anything but my own feet. As ever I reasoned with myself: "you’re a great swimmer, you just got your 50 metre Frosties badge!" I thought, "every other cousin is doing it, you’ll just be left out again if you stay" and "your eight-year-old brother is right now standing on the helm of a boat pretending to be a pirate!" 

It doesn’t matter. Irrational fear is irrational, a phobia to a child is as insurmountable as Everest is to hamster. That coldness held me regardless of how I wanted to react. I turned from the boats, ready to walk away.  

"Come on" said a confident voice and I felt my hand held tightly. There was no 'shall we?' There was no "What do you think?" She held my hand. My Gran, who had walked with me to take care of me, held my hand and walked me to the boats. I probably cried. I was probably terrified but as I looked at my gran, someone who I had learnt to trust implicitly taking me by the hand I felt a resolve that wasn’t my own. I saw Johnny in his boat, he was positively beaming at me, the tears on my face seemingly absent as I walked to up to the creaking planks of the ancient crabber. I was terrified, inside I was screaming but I walked, blood rushing in my ears. They both smiled at me and my gran squeezed my hand as the sail snapped taught before I had noticed that I was on board. 

 She was fearful too I could tell. Her knuckles were white against the running board, her gaze glanced back and forth in worry, from cousin to slipping knot to worried looking grandson to mainsail to jib and back. But then her gaze would pass to Johnny, the Rotadile. She wouldn't relax, I'm not sure she could on a boat, but the boat would accommodate her then. Their eyes would meet and the boat would sigh. It would stop fighting the wind. The waves would stop slapping the sides and rather they would crickle along with the hull, encouraging them home. There was between the two of them an understanding, one that then was understood by the seas, the tide, by the wood of the boat, by the very nature around them.   

I didn’t sit still once on that journey home . I was ordered here there and everywhere by Johnny or a cousin or grabbed by my Gran as we wen through a rough patch. I had years of walking to make up for and Johnny was prepared to make me run a marathon's worth of jobs as the wind pulled us on. On a boat that was less than 14 ft long this was impressive but I did it though, without complaint and more surprisingly without tears. 

I was made to feel important. I stood between this piece of wood and fibreglass and the icy depths (though those depths were about thigh deep). I held the tiller, I controlled the mainsail, pulled the jib, pulled this piece of rope through that piece of rope, grabbed an anchor that may or may not have been attached. I was the first mate, I was Pirate Jack, I was in fact almost home when I remembered that I had my terror. It was a physical reaction, as it came back in a wave during a lull in the various pulling tasks set by my skipper and I became pale as it hit me. I felt it surge over me and I turned in horror behind me, looking to the coast, not even 15 metres away from me. I looked for one face then, that of my gran, who smiled at me when we locked eyes as the fear passed over me and washed through me. I grabbed a random lever and pulled it - despite the unplanned change of direction this caused Johnny complimented me with good nature on my seaworthiness and we bashed heavily into the side.

I dismounted the boat with a splash, took the mooring rope and tied a perfect figure of eight to the quayside. There was no pomp and circumstance, no celebration, my parents smiled to themselves and moved on and I stood knee deep and flecked in creek mud, grinning. My Gran stepped from the boat and took my hand, my other clasping the mooring rope, just in case. 

"I'm so proud of you" she said, wiping a spot of mud from my chin.  

"It's alright, I've got the rope here!" I replied with an adrenaline fuelled bluster. 

"Well done darling" She said with a smile warmer than the cooked sand of the beach we’d left as the hordes of cousins disembarked around me. Johnny smiled to see it and I grinned to be a part of it as she squeezed my hand just a little bit tighter.

Pale Walls pt. 3

Jasper wasn't aware he had been walking and blinked as he turned a small street corner to find the Pantheon lunging out at him, squat and dark and indescribably impressive it jerked him back from his reverie. He was sure he hadn't noticed his feet moving, his mind had been filled with thoughts of Giulia, they crowded out everything else, squashing usual thoughts until he barely noticed they were there. Hunger, thirst and encroaching sunburn were reduced to grains of sand in an ocean of Red-headed, yellow-dressed, sun-kissed smiles and pale blue eyes. He reflected on how un-Italian her features were and made a mental note to ask her about it once they were better acquainted, though that note was quickly drowned at the thought of how becoming better acquainted with her was now a reality and not just a pipe dream entertained over the rim of a cold beer.  

His stomach grumbled loudly enough for thoughts of hunger to momentarily make themselves bright enough for him to take notice. He frowned and looked around him. It was a shame that the restaurants in front of the Pantheon were all overpriced tourist traps, it really would have been a wonderful place to sit for lunch, but it wasn't worth spending twenty Euros on a pizza he could get for five in the restaurant under his flat. When he had first moved to Rome, before he had understood just how cheap Rome could be those restaurants were his go to spots and he'd spend hours sitting and watching the chaos in the Pantheon square. Horses and carts pushed their way through the teeming crowds of tourists and performers, Italian teenagers skulked and smoked by the central fountain and a river of visitors flowed in and out of the ancient Roman church. Pilgrims, nuns, monks and endless tourists buffed the marble entrance way yet it always stunned Jasper how quiet the enormous hall was once you got inside. The awe-inspiring exterior made you want to gasp in amazement but the even more impressive interior had a way of crushing any outward exaltations and leaving you struck down with nothing but amazement. The loudest sounds inside came from the rustling of clothes rather than the clamour of voices. That and the panicked beating of the occasional trapped pigeon. The square blocks of marble decorating the rounded interior of the dome drew the eye to the glowing Oculus which perpetually shone down on the gathered masses below, illuminating portions of the brightly decorated walls. The reds, golds and blacks of the church walls contrasted starkly with the almost naked looking dome, creating a discordant harmony synonymous of the building itself and conjuring an atmosphere that reminded Jasper far more of the Pagan Temple that it was designed to be rather than the Catholic Church it was pretending to be now.  

He stood watching as long as his stomach would allow him to then moved off on his way to find somewhere to sate it. As he pushed through the crowds he kept one arm out to part the seas of people and the other subconsciously resting on his wallet as was the habit of any seasoned ex-pat in Rome. He had never been pickpocketed but everyone heard the stories gleefully swapped by bitter bar patrons about so-and-so who had had his phone wallet and underwear stolen right out from underneath him. It was mostly overblown rubbish of course but it was enough to just make you a little cautious. He made his way through quickly, pausing briefly to watch a cellist playing a gorgeous version of one of Bach's 1st cello suite, he didn't know that was what it was called but he recognised the tune and smiled to himself as he moved on. The square was too hot to be standing in that afternoon anyway, even the Italian teenagers were retreating into the shade of the Pantheon's massive portico to puff away on their vaping machines.  

Round past the back of the Pantheon Jasper was nearing on where he spent most of his weeks working in his small legal office. He wasn't a lawyer himself, and truthfully he never wanted to be either but the work paid reasonably and he was content to while his days away in the air conditioned office with its high ceilings and stunning view over Piazza Venezia. Just beneath this office though was a little sandwich shop that he felt himself gravitating towards. He was about ninety percent certain that this shop was singlehandedly responsible for him having gained almost two stone in the short time he had been there. The angry Italian 'Pierluigi' who served the sandwiches made the most incredible bread there in his shop, the crust was harder than diamond and scratched the roof of your mouth to pieces but this was immediately soothed by the exquisitely doughy and aerated centre which provided an immediate salve to the crust. This coupled with his go to of Porchetta, spinach and chilli olive paste created a somewhat masochistic lunchtime meal that was second to none in his eyes. Not even the famous 'pizza tagliere' which the Italians enjoyed so much could compare in his eyes.  

He managed to fight his way to the front of the teeming crowds, defying his British urge to queue politely as he wanted to be served this century, he managed to catch the man behind the counters eye. He was looking particularly furious at all the people wanting his goods that afternoon, his hooded eyes glowering out from under bushy black eyebrows but he nodded with a slightly softer expression to Jasper and quickly made up his usual sandwich and passed it to him wrapped in a paper bag with a can of ice cold ginger beer plucked from the little drinks fridge under the counter. "Paghi Lunedi" he growled roughly with a voice abused by years of cigarellos. 

"Grazie Pierlu" Jasper replied but the man had already turned away to gesture wildly at a woman who was waving a ticket in his face. A stream of expletives floated after Jasper as the door slid shut behind him with a gentle tinkle of the doorbell.  

Piazza Venezia was a maelstrom of taxis, buses and scooters, more so than most of the intersections around the city as the road going around the central island was exactly two and a third cars wide, though if an Italian said that they would argue it was perfectly four cars wide and therefore the entire square was constantly soaked in the sound of horns blaring, slammed on by indignant taxis who couldn't understand why noone would get over. Crossing the piazza as a pedestrian was like playing frogger, except the frog is blindfolded, terrified and literally everything is on fire. Jasper made it across without incident, heading down towards the Coliseum on Via dei Fori Imperiali, the road Mussolini had bulldozed half of the Roman forum for so that he could see the Coliseum from his palace window. There was a perfect patch of shade just off the road with a couple of benches and patchy grass which overlooked the ancient forum and Jasper took up his position there. He took the first bite of the sandwich and almost broke two of his teeth off on the hard crust. Jasper smiled, Pierluigi had made the perfect loaf.  

He hadn't realised how hungry he had been until that first bite and he had quickly devoured the first half of the sandwich before he looked up to see a man shaking sunglasses at him. He smiled and shook his head through a mouthful of salted pork and spinach but the man didn't leave, instead taking the silence to imply interest and so he started to hold up different pairs of sunglasses. "Very good, you see very good for you" the man said excitedly. Jasper smiled again and tried to swallow but the crust wasn't chewed well enough and would have been like swallowing glass. He assumed the man was Bangaladeshi or Pakistani given his strong accent, but as Jasper's knowledge of that part of the world was extremely limited he wouldn't have stuck by either of those guesses. The man offered him a pair "here, they good for you, I give you excellent price. Yes, excellent price for my friend." 

He finally managed to swallow the thick lump of hardened bread and grease and gasped for air as he felt it sliding down his throat. The sunglasses seller looked slightly perplexed but kept going, he really was giving a very good pitch but unfortunately it was one that Jasper had heard a thousand times on that step alone.  

"Grazie signor, ma ho molte occhiale." He told the man in his laughably weak Italian. The man was completely unperturbed by how many glasses Jasper had already however and merely switched to Italian himself, but that was so heavily accented that Jasper would have struggled to understand even if he had been a native. "No signor, no grazie" Jasper smiled at him once more but then looked away, pretending to be interested suddenly in the enormous white Vittoriano behind him. The man nobly continued for a few seconds more but then when Jaspers eyes didn't come back to his wares he cut silent mid word and picked them up again, moving on to his next potential patrons as though the failed sale had never even happened. Jasper had found in his short time there that the best way to avoid anyone coming up to you on the street in Rome, and there were plenty of them, was to pretend that you didn't see them. Breaking eye contact seemed to confuse people in Italy, to the people like the sunglasses man it showed disinterest but to an Italian it was just bizarre. Italians, he had found, along with other Mediterranean European citizens valued eye contact much more than those in Northern Europe. It showed interest in a way that was genuine and polite and breaking eye contact with someone who was talking to you was rude as it showed that you were bored of what they had to say. To Italians this was particularly perplexing as every Italian genuinely believes that what they are saying is the most interesting thing in the world. Jasper had often mused that this is why so many of the Italians, particularly those in the south, considered northern Europeans rude and somewhat hostile; because they didn't maintain eye contact as much they were clearly uninterested in them, and being uninterested in an Italian is a complete impossibility. 

He happily munched his way through what was left of his sandwich, marvelling at just how covered in flour and grease his fingers were getting and lubricating his throat with the ginger beer. He watched as the busses bounced their way down the street in front him, their horribly soft suspension giving the impression of small boats in a storm as they struggled with the roads not repaired since the romans had built them. The little Vespas fizzed by here too but the road was less busy than most around the area as the Coliseum was closed off to public travel save buses and taxis. Savouring the last mouthful of his sandwich, a particularly heavily laden number 61 bus pulled up opposite him and he smiled as an entire Japanese tour group got out, the bus chassis visibly rising several inches as they belched forward like clowns from a mini. The tour group snaked away as the bus roared off, the few local Italians remaining looking shell-shocked through the window. It rounded the corner and disappeared beneath the glowing white arches of the ancient auditorium. The entire road really was a marvel of brazen arrogance, not only had Mussolini destroyed and/or covered up more than 80% of the various Roman Forums, but to have done it apparently so that he could see the Coliseum from his office was so contemptable it was almost funny. Jasper scoffed as he looked back at the old palace where 'Il Duce' had had his balcony and pushed himself up off the step.  

Clapping his hands together he tried to remove the worst of the flour and then absently brushed them against his light cotton trousers, which had little effect other than to leave a couple of greasy hand prints on his thighs. He swore quietly then shrugged and wandered off. He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do with the next few hours of his Saturday, as usually he spent them sitting in Giulia's bar reading and with that off the cards he was at a total loss. Besides his mind was still fogged with thoughts of red hair and a high-pitched laugh. As so often happens though, just as you need a distraction, one willingly comes along. He felt the familiar feeling of his mobile vibrating in his pocket. As was his, admittedly rather strange, habit he pretended to not have felt the notification for a few minutes as he walked back across the roundabout of Piazza Venezia and over to where the surprisingly inconspicuous tram stop was hiding behind a screen of plane trees.  

Reaching the tram stop and not seeing any of the lumbering monsters that ran out into the residential zones to the south he plucked his phone from his pocket. He wasn't sure why he always left text messages unread for a few minutes after receiving them. He suspected it was from an ingrained desire not to appear too needy or keen, though in truth it was just quite irritating for friends who needed any sort of urgent response. 

J, what you up to? Me and El are in Zara are you nel centro? 

Then two minutes later 

Oi dickhead look at your phone. 

It was from one of his local friends. Emily and Ele were two English teachers he had met about six months into his time in the country. They were a little older than him, but they both had an exuberance that Jasper in his youth struggled to keep up with. Loud and frighteningly good fun to be around they had all become fast friends. He smiled at the phone.  

Hi Em, sono in P. Venezia. 

He checked his watch, it was only two thirty, plenty of time for a catch up. 

I'll come meet you guys there

He glanced up as the familiar clunking rattling and screaming sound of a tram approached the platform. He turned away from the ugly green monster that would have taken him away back towards his house and headed towards the main highstreet of the historical centre.  

Pale Walls pt. 2

The two walked arm in arm chatting about nothing and everything. Jasper thought exactly that as they crossed a tramline and doubled back on themselves towards the river. 'Nothing and everything', it was a conversation that only two people who had really quite intense feelings for each other could discuss. There was the visible, superfluous topic of conversation: the cobbled stones, the light on the city walls, the smells from the nearby bakery, these were the spoken conversations between two young lovers – the visible surface effects. Beneath this though was the main volume of conversation. This was the unseen interaction, the interaction that said more than their words could, it was the glancing of eyes, the smirks and shirks, the moving together during one sentence and pulling apart during another. It was the laughter, the smiles, the frown, the implication, frustration and the clear and unseen fact that these were two people who couldn't help but be drawn to one another. The fact that both of them could feel beyond the surface ripples was that there was a tide beneath them that was carrying beyond pure conversation and both felt it and because they were young and confused, neither of them acknowledged it. Instead they walked together along the bank of the Tiber, moving towards the Castel Sant Angelo with a flood hanging over them that neither could see.  

"No really! Look it up, it's a fact!" 

"I do not believe you Fig-knight, not for a second." 

"They were your people not mine, why would I invent it? The Romans built the Coliseum, the Circus maximus, they created mega-scale engineering before even large-scale engineering was a thing! I promise you Giulia, the Fields of Mars – Piazza Navona and its surroundings - exist because Caesar decided he wanted to move the river and he did!" Giulia looked down at the river beneath them, its enormous concrete walls plunging downwards like a glacial valley. "Two thousand years ago they did this." He grinned and relished the amazement of the sheer audacity of the Romans "Two THOUSAND years ago Giulia" he grinned at her enthusiastically. 

"How did I not know this?" She asked with a frown. Slightly perturbed she didn’t share his enthusiasm he looked thoughtfully forward at the line of Plane trees which covered the Tiber banks. 

"Probably because it doesn't have the same exciting history as the other Roman places, there was no religion involved, no entertainment killings, no great battles. It was probably built so that the poor could have something to do and the rich could have a new place to build their houses."  he frowned himself now. 

"You're making this up now I know!" She giggled and he smiled back at her. 

"Yeah but I sound pretty convincing, don't I?" They both laughed. A Scooter flew by and honked at the two of them, Giulia waved after it. 

"My Brother" she explained simply as the little blue vesper swung around a corner at a gravity defying angle. The vespers were out in fleet that day, hundreds of them buzzing past them, screeching and swearing as they slipped through traffic like grains of sand poured into a jar full of ping pong balls. The brief encounter reminded him just how small Rome was though. Back in the UK if Jasper and his brother had lived in London the chances of them seeing each other in the streets were thousands to one. In Rome you couldn't walk 100 metres without bumping into someone who called your name, for a local like Giulia it was even worse – or better depending on how you looked at it. Rome wasn't a Western capital in the traditional sense. This was no centre of commerce or some sort of grey and depressing financial centre, it wasn't a thriving metropolis that sprawled for miles and miles with glistening skyscrapers looming overhead, though that may have been how the early Romans had envisioned it. At the heart of it Rome had that most Italian quality: it was a family town. Rome was provincial without ever meaning to be, the fierceness of the Italian desire to remain closely knit with one another had ensured that Rome had never escaped that small-town feeling. Everything about it was to create that sense of togetherness, the Italian family ideal and to then show off that ideal to the outside world. The tourists were merely guests in the vast and beautifully decorated Roman living room.  

The Dome of St. Peters towered above the Vatican to their left as the ancient brick Castel Sant Angelo loomed up from the water on their right. They stood for a second, leaning against the river wall and taking in the view of the midmorning sun as it lit up the two monuments. Giulia pointed at a collection of houses. "You see through there?" She said her finger indicating a small window at the top of one. "That is the secret route the Pope can use to escape the Vatican if he needs."  

"Escape the Vatican?" Jasper looked down at her surprised. 

"Yup" she continued "through the top of those houses and a portion of wall over..." She moved her finger down the river towards the Castel "...there, there is a passageway that links the Castel Sant Angelo to il Vaticano and the Pope can use it should he need to escape. Although now I hear it is used more to store art and sculpture for the museum."  

"Wow" Jasper said, genuinely impressed. He squinted at the buildings and in fact he could make out a few windows and peculiar architectural features that didn't quite match the surroundings. "The things you learn on an art history course" he smiled at her and to his surprise she grimaced.  

"Well actually..." Now she looked sheepish "I learnt that from reading a Dan Brown book..." She grinned and he let out a chuckle.  

"Ha ha! Hey that's not a bad thing!" He smiled at her. 

"Oh no? How so? 

"Well if you ask me, it shouldn't matter where you learn something, the quality of the source doesn't spoil the quality of the fact so long as it is a fact." She mulled this over for a second, looking thoughtful. "For example," he went on, "when I was at school I was on the quiz team – don't look at me like that, knowledge is cool - and we were tied with our rival school's team in the semi final. The final question in the tie-breaker was 'what type of wood was Noah's Ark made out of?'" He paused to see if she would answer. 

"La Arca di Noè" Giulia said absently then shrugged.  

"Exactly, no one had a clue, it's a ridiculous question if you don't go to a religious school, which we didn't. But I knew the answer." He grinned at the memory.  

"And this answer is...?" He smiled at her. 

"Noah's ark was made out of Gopher wood. It's not even a real wood, it's an invention in the Bible, but it was the right answer and we won the semi finals, got pasted in the final but that didn't matter."  

"So how did you know this miraculous answer to this impossible question then, oh great and wise one?" She prodded him lightly in the ribs with her elbow. 

"Simple" he smiled, "the night before I had watched the movie 'Evan Almighty'". He looked down at her still grinning, at first her face was blank but then suddenly she burst into her rich laughter.  

"The terrible movie? With the man from the Office? Oh no Jasper I do not know if this is a good boast!" She laughed. 

"But it's not a boast, you see! It doesn't matter how you know something, what matters is that you know it. Like your Pope hole and my Gopher wood, if we hadn't read or watched those terrible things we would never have been able to reveal them to each other."  

She poked him in the ribs again but when she looked up at him her eyes were nothing but smiles. "Such a philosopher." The two looked at each other, smiling for a second but were interrupted by the tolling of a bell from the nearby Dome, which was quickly followed by the rest of Rome's churches striking midday. Giulia sighed. "Come Philosopher, I must go to work now." 

"Philosopher, Fig Knight, I wonder what my next nickname will be?" He mused aloud as they turned and crossed the road. 

"'Squished' if you don't keep your eyes open" she said, grabbing him back as a scooter shot out from its hidden spot behind a parked car. They laughed and proceeded off over the cobbles, swapping the sounds of roaring traffic for the quieter back streets as they wound their way South East towards Navona. He knew the area so well by that stage that he could have walked it with his eyes closed and he made the mistake of telling Giulia this, who of course immediately told him to prove it. This then led to a series of awkward bumps into passing strangers and more raucous laughter as they both took it in turns to see who could get the furthest with their eyes closed. Neither of them could get as far as they had thought it turned out.  

All too soon for Jasper it was over though, they found themselves standing by the bar and suddenly he felt his heart start to race again, his mind went a little cloudy as adrenaline pumped through his veins, though he had no idea why exactly. Giulia turned and looked back at him and he realised he had stopped in the road just before the getting to the bar. She looked puzzledly at him and although he didn't know it his face was concerned. "Everything OK Caro?" She asked. Of all the names she had called him that day 'Caro' was still his favourite, it had a way of sounding soft when she spoke it, a collection of letters that became infinitely kind when they left her lips.  

"Yes. Yes I'm fine" he said, though he didn't feel it. It was as though a spell had broken. They had spent a joyous morning together but now it had to end, the spell was broken and he had to return to his daily life, the monotony of his regular programming, sitting down with his drink, having a read as Giulia served him and they would fall back into the usual routine of barely talking and before he knew it they would be nothing more than customer and waitress again. He almost couldn't bear it.  

"Well are you coming in then?" She asked with a smile. He stared at her, words on his tongue but none ready to form a cohesive sentence just yet. He frowned and realised he couldn't do it, he couldn't go in, he had to somehow break the cycle and his mouth moved faster on it than his brain. He blurted "sorry, I've just realised I have to go meet with a friend this afternoon" this wasn't true and he looked surprised at himself for saying it but he couldn't stop there "yeah I'm supposed to be meeting with him over by Villa Borghese. Sorry Giulia, I had fun today. I mean this morning. I'll see you?" He had fumbled the words out and very little of them made sense to him. Giulia to her credit didn't change her face a bit, though the slightest flicker of a knowing smile seemed to flashed briefly behind her eyes, but this went unnoticed by Jasper. She straightened up and sighed dramatically.  

"Well if this friend is SOOOO important then I suppose you must see him" she said, rolling her eyes. 

"No... he's not.. He's um... he's" Jasper spluttered. 

"Jasper, Caro, I am joking, of course you must see your friend, it is not as though your plans here are so important!" She laughed "I am sure someone else will be able to come read alone and not say anything all afternoon" she winked and he blushed.  

"Yes... well I'll see you" he gave her a half wave which was a laughably pathetic goodbye because she was less than arms reach away from him. Before his hand had fallen back to his side though she skipped forward and planted a small kiss on his cheek, forcing them to flush even redder than before.  

"I'll see you Caro" she grinned one last time then turned and flowed back up the road towards the bar. Jasper stood watching her in utter bemusement with amazement quickly taking over. It had been the perfect morning, but now he felt he had ruined it by cutting their meeting short. He watched as her dress sparkled with sunlight and her feet clicked on the square cobbled streets. Sudddenly he fell calm. Laughter filled him as he watched her, not mirthful laughter but joyous laughter. She was a creature from his imagination and she rode sunlight through the streets.  

"Giulia!" He shouted, staying where he was, his brain now completely uninvolved in the words that were coming out of his mouth. She stopped with one hand on the door and performed a small childlike hop to turn to him, her face without a trace of surprise that he had called after her.  

"Jasper?" She replied, sounding like an expectant school teacher waiting for the answer to a question she hadn't asked. 

"Do you want to meet this evening after work?" He said, a little too quickly. She laughed and he basked in it as it filled the street, echoing of the high walls and window shutters like perfectly plucked chords on a harp.  

"I will see you here at six, Caro. Do not be late" and with a flick of flashing red hair she had disappeared into the bar.  

Pale Walls, pt. 1

The cannon blew its customary smoke ring at eight that morning, the surprisingly muffled blast echoing back dully from the first few rings of muddled streets but barely reaching much further. The sun was already glaring hard down upon the city, cooking those residents stupid enough to have a sensible job and making their morning commute, white shirts staining dark as they sat cooking on their whining scooters. Domes glinted over their heads, the ancient still dominating the new in a city that refused to modernise. 'Fuck me' Jasper thought, flicking his cigarette butt at a busy collection of pigeons, who ignored him as they strutted their way around the Gianicolo. Shrugging he walked off, pushing himself up from the pleasantly cool stone wall which looked out over the hectic rooftops.  

The sun was the dominant force in those days, gaggles of tourists wound through the streets either hunting for the brightest spots or running to the darkest ones depending on how pink they were. The occasional lobster coloured American wincing his way through the small streets always made Jasper smile a little. The Italians of course were completely nonchelant to the heat, strutting back and forth in perfectly cut suits and body con dresses, the slimmer men with similarly slim cigarettes hanging artfully from their mouths and the larger, more Marlon Brando sized men with similarly Marlon Brando sized cigars being chewed from one side of their lips to the other. The women of Italy, the only people in the world who can out-elegant their male counterparts flowed through the streets, stopping the incessant traffic with a casual wave of their dark hands or palming off the advances of random street admirers with either a winning smile or a scorching stare.  

Jasper walked amongst them quietly, keeping himself to himself as Italy's greatest exports – their beautiful middle-aged citizens – flowed around him and the tourists bounced off one another. Saturdays were for walking. He had decided this a while back in his self appointed placement in the Eternal City. Walking and watching. It was amazing what you could see if you just walked and watched, the stories you picked up on, the snippets of intrigue you caught half whispered or wholly shouted from shop doors and restaurant floors. So Jasper had decided that every Saturday he would go out amongst the people, tear himself from his bed and his small laptop screen and see what stories he could find.  

Inevitably this had led him to a girl. He liked to pretend that he still went out on Saturdays to see the people of Rome, to go into the ancient buildings and watch as history unfurled itself in art, architecture and human nature, and for a few hours each weekend he did. But increasingly as his time in the city had stretched out he had found himself gravitating to a bar. There were many in Rome, all selling sweet and refreshing alcohols but only one he had found also presented the him with the sweet and refreshing barmaid that he now found himself inexorably drawn to.  Every Saturday his ritual would be the same. He would walk up the small street by Piazza Navona but turn back just before he got to the little bar with its odd mismatch of chairs outside. He'd then do a lap of the ancient square, marvelling at the four rivers fountain pretending that he was going to head off East to see more of the city. Lap completed he'd then go back up the street, finding an excuse and then the courage to this time walk by the bar, glancing in once to see if she was there. She always was. He'd quickly look away again though. Once she had made eye contact with him as he had glanced and his heart had shot into his mouth so hard that he had run all the way home. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to risk it again. After walking to the end of the little street he'd walk back, carrying out one more quick sideways glance to convince himself that she was indeed there before a wave of bravery would carry him inside.  

"Buongiorno Caro, come stai?" She would always say the moment he walked through the door as she turned her blistering smile towards him. Her perfect teeth would flash with a joy so explicit, so privately content and so lovely that it could only be genuine. Every time he would be left stunned, as though her lips were a physical force that knocked all of his many hours of Italian lessons from his head.  

"I'm good, thank you" he would answer in English, not good English either but rather slow, like someone who's tongue was too big for his mouth. She would laugh, a soft and melodic sound and begin to pour him his usual drink as he stood gawping in the doorway.  

"You are not 'good' Caro, you are 'well', 'goodness' is not something you decide for yourself, I think" She explained before flashing him another smile from over the condensation covered beer taps. He would gawk back mutely, a crooked half grin just about all he could manage in response. 

The two or three local Italian men who had been sitting at the same seats since the fall of Rome would look at each other with a knowing smile, and flash their four teeth at him, which would prompt Jasper to finally shake himself and come forward. What was ridiculous was that he wasn't a shy person, he wasn't the kind of guy that would keep himself to himself at a party and play with the cat, he was the kind of guy who did his best to be the centre of attention in any room he was in, to try and get all those around to laugh with him, or at him if that failed. Nor was he ever particularly shy with women, he had his own sordid and speckled past with various romantic partners and was actually quite proud of his ability to be comfortable with just about anyone, no matter how beautiful, interesting or generally disarming they thought themselves to be.  

Giulia though was another kettle of fish entirely. She was a whole volcanic geyser of fish. How do you act cool with a girl who can make your blood boil with a single glance? How do you act comfortable around someone whose smile makes your skin prickle and forces you to smile back whether you had wanted to or not? How could you be charming or witty when the sound of her voice made your entire brain turn to soup and leak out of your ears so that you're left with nothing but the thought of shining starlight? What was more frustrating was that he was fully aware of all this, and yet could do nothing about it at all and so he would smile his least goofy smile, collect his beer from her with a soft "Grazie" and make his way to the little table outside, open his book and then not read it.  

Every Saturday was the same, every weekend would come around and he would follow the same routine. This weekend was no different, although admittedly he was out of bed far earlier than usual. His normal evening of drinking too much red wine and eating astonishing amounts of pasta in a little Hosteria with his mixed group of friends hadn't happened due to some sort of school holiday and so he had curled up on the sofa and passed out early whilst cradling a bottle of whiskey with one hand and his other in an ashtray. As a result though he hadn't been suffering with the usual carbohydrate hangover that morning, just a regular one, and so had gotten up early to see the morning view over the city.  

And what a view it was. He had arrived just as the sun rose up over the Castelli hills to the South East of the city. The orange daubed walls being kissed and caressed by the warm morning light as it rose, making the city glisten and flicker like the uncovered embers of last night's bonfire. The great monuments of the ancient world hulked in the skyline, the harsh angular lines of modern buildings blessedly absent from Rome's centre. Scanning from East to West the various domes of the Catholic world blended seamlessly with the dramatic brickwork ruins of the more ancient Roman Empire, creating a mass of huddled architecture which now unfurled in the morning glow. It was a view of millennia. The view of Emperors, Kings, Presidents and Popes. Peasants to Princes had admired this view since the birth of Western civilisation and it was a view that Jasper could never tire of.  

Having sated his visual appetite he traipsed back down the ancient hill towards the knotted streets of Trastevere, with a vague idea of finding a coffee. He passed groups of Asian tourists hustling their way to the next view point to take their flurry of pictures and American couples wearing their socks, sandals and bulging bumbags whilst generally looking rather lost. The Italians were all sensibly still in bed of course, apart from the weekend workers who were angrily buzzing their way to their various appointments like a thousand pissed off wasps fighting their way through traffic.  

Down into the ancient streets of Trastevere he frowned at the collection of modern bars, their purple neon lights clashing angrily with the history of the area, even in this early hour. He was a bit of a self-admitting snob when it came to the bars and clubs that sprung up around Rome, preferring the old school Italian trattorias to the modern 'slutty bars' as one friend called them that supposedly catered to his age group. He enjoyed being served by an Italian man that barely gave you the time of day and effectively splashed your drink into your face rather than give you any actual customer service. The Americanised smiles and 'Hey, how are ya?'s of the neon and black holes that served fireball and jaegerbombs and advertised happy hours weren't really the point of living in an ancient district in Rome. In retrospect he was probably a bit of a hipster. 

Cutting his way through the streets he stopped to peer into a little shop that sold handmade watches and hourglasses. The intricate craftsmanship always intrigued him and he liked to go in and chat to their maker when he was having a boring afternoon, he was too early today though and the shops lights were still dark. A scooter zoomed past him, lifting his untucked shirt up slightly to reveal a sliver of ever expanding belly and at the same time someone put a hand on his arm.  

He would like to have said that he responded coolly to this, turning casually to run off a witty one liner to whoever it was that had tried to get his attention but unfortunately what we would have liked to have happened and what did actually happens in situations such as these so rarely coincide.  

What actually happened was that Jasper jumped out of his skin, both literally and metaphorically. He leapt backwards into the street and managed to clip a passing cyclist, who didn't fall over but merely swore loudly at him as he did fall, rather hard, right onto his coccyx. The hard cobbled streets were completely unforgiving and tears immediately filled his eyes as the jarring pain of his bruised tailbone filled his brain with daggers. He let out a not-so-flattering squawking, croaking sound, similar to the sound you would imagine and ostrich makes when it lays an unusually large egg.  

As he blinked the tears back and the the adrenaline boost he had been gifted made the blood roar in his ears he glanced around him, looking for the perpetrator of his misfortune. He could just make out the sound of someone laughing. Through the misted veil of tears he could see a sunlight yellow and clipped lawn green blob blurrily swaying in front of him. The blob was clearly enjoying the spectacle hugely, doubled over in amusement. Angrily he struggled to his feet, wiping his eyes to finally clear his vision he was about to launch into an angry tirade at the yellow and green blob but upon looking at her his brain went familiarly blank. 

Giulia, the barmaid, was laughing beautifully at him, fully doubling over as she held one hand to her mouth. He stood there, comically, his mouth slightly open with one finger raised in a half-started rebuke as his coccyx throbbed painfully, rudely unaware of the delicate situation Jasper now thought himself to be in.  

Her laughter was unwaveringly gorgeous, it was so rich and full that you could carve off a slice of it and feed your emotions for weeks. It poured into the street around her, filling the shaded spots with a light brighter than the beating Mediterranean sun. 

"Mi dispiace" she managed to gasp over the throws of her reverie, composing herself a little before catching a glimpse of him standing frozen and falling back into her fits of hysterics. Jasper managed to eventually pull himself to and squeaked out a "Giulia", whilst flashing what he hoped was his least pathetic and embarrassed smile. It was easily his most pathetic and embarrassed smile.  

"I am sorry caro, I did not mean to spook you" she chimed sweetly, managing to stop laughing long enough to begin to speak.  

"It's quite alright Giulia, really, you barely surprised me at all" he lied. She smiled toothily at him and expertly raised one eyebrow, showing how little she believed him. He couldn't help but smile sheepishly back. "Actually yes you did shock me quite a but" he said, smiling and rubbing his damaged tailbone.  

"Awww Jasper, I am sorry caro, here" she reached forward and patted some of the street dust off his shirt, still grinning. Reaching up she adjusted his sunglasses which had dislodged slightly in the tumble before taking a step back and after a second of admiration emphatically kissing her fingers in an over the top Italian manner. Jasper stood dumbfounded throughout the whole thing. His brain was drawing a blank, this wasn't a scenario he had ever envisaged and was totally unprepared. "Better?" Giulia asked, still smiling. 

"Oh... er... yes, much thank you" he replied, tripping over the words as he went but finally managing a proper smile that was now only slightly twinged with embarrassment. She looped her arm through his so quickly that he didn't even see it coming "you are going to the bar si?" He nodded dumbly as he stared in shock at her arm through his, not sure what to do. "Perfetto, you can accompany me and I can make sure no more strange woman attack you in the streets." She glanced around them with mock suspicion before grinning up at him. He smiled back and tried to think of something clever or funny to say but his brain was full of cotton wool. He was far too British for this he thought. 

The two walked on in silence for a little, sweating amiably under the intensifying morning sun. The flow of tourists was increasing and the first sleepy Italians were emerging in the local coffee shops, the small of dark roast espressos and freshly baked cornetti spread over the small streets of Trastevere as they turned up onto a little square. "You live near to here signor?" Asked Giulia conversationally as they picked their way over the cobbles. It took him a second to realise she had asked him a question but he got an answer out in relatively good time for once.  

"Yes. Yes actually I live over by piazza San Cosimato" 

"Oh!" She exclaimed excitedly and spun to look at him, still holding his arm in one hand. "Cosimato? The Piazza with the little mercato si?" 

"Yeah that's the one" he smiled at the thought of the colourful little market under his flat.  

"Oh well we must go! It is so beautiful in the mornings and I must buy my..." She paused looking puzzled as she searched for a word "verdure?" She asked him inquisitively. 

"Vegetables" 

"Ah vegetables exactly! So he does speak Italiano does he?"  

"Not as well as you speak English" he grinned back at her, happy that for once he seemed to have come up with a genuinely witty response.  

"Pssshh" she waved the comment away and took his arm again steering him back towards his little piazza. "Of course not, you are English. English do not speak the languages of other people as well as the other people speak English". It took him a second to wrap his head around the sentence but it was definitely true. 

"Well I can't argue there, we are a nation of lazy people when it comes to language." 

"Ah but is it laziness or is it just... cultura?" She asked and soon they fell into a genuine conversation about the details of learning languages and why different cultures seem more inclined to learn them where others are less so. They walked arm in arm, now oblivious to the sun as they spoke, their feet clicking softly against the warm cobbles underneath, the dust gently floating up with each footfall to dance on the stray rays of light that caught between the houses. It was an energetic and fun conversation for Jasper, who was surprised to find himself able to engage with Giulia in a way he had never expected given his previous inclination to fall apart at the mere sight of her. She had learned English in school, as all Italians did but had continued through University alongside her degree in art History. Serving tourists in the bar was where she had learnt the most though she agreed.  

"Especially when they try and hit on me so" she said giving him a funny little sideways glance that he tried to pretend he hadn't noticed, but immediately reddened deeply.  

"Erm, so why did you study history of art?" He said, hurriedly trying to move the conversation on as they turned off down a small side street. She let out a short snort but mercifully went along with his topic change.  

"I am Roman Jasper." She said, savouring the word Roman as though it held all the weight of the millenniums of history that it entailed. "Roma is the seat of History. Art is where History is recorded." She smiled at the image she had created "to study that art in this place is to study the history of my people. It is to see the images of the past as they were meant to be created. Not just with a snap" she acted out taking a selfie with her lips puckered and throwing up a peace sign to the imaginary camera. "It is to study the details of a people in their time, not just the story. Through art we grasp the feelings, the attitude, the... the..."  

"The emotions?" Jasper offered 

"Si Caro! Si!" She beamed at him, as though she were grateful for him understanding and he couldn't help but feel warmed by it. "It is through art we see the emotion of the time. I can see their joys, their loves and heartbreak. I can see their sorrows and their fears and from this art I can bring myself out" she continued "and this is why I study, to see how the people felt. I want to feel as they did, these my ancestors who built this" she stamped a foot on the cobbles beneath her "to understand them, and to understand who I am. Do you see?" She looked at him and he did, he understood what she meant. He looked at her, this girl with whom he'd only ever spoken a few sentences and he was held with wonder. Before he could answer though she let out a squeal in delight and dashed forward, letting her arm slip from his. 

They had come out of the side street into the market, and as ever Jasper was immediately bowled over by the assault on the senses that the little piazza held. Wooden market stalls as old as the flagstones beneath them displayed an array of brightly coloured edible paraphernalia. This market wasn't one of the enormous tourist traps like Campo dei fiori or Navona. This was a proper farmers market, produce fresh from the nearby Castelli hills shipped in twice a week to be sold by deeply bronzed, hard looking men who took orders from tiny harder looking old Italian women. Bright red peppers sat next to the freshest courgettes on top of bags of spice and baskets of oranges. Lemons the size of melons shared shelf space with actual melons and bunches of flowers and dried herbs hung from stall corners. The bizarre blend of the smell of fresh fish from one stall and rich spices from another had an almost physical presence in the air, the flowers creating a perfume that slipped through the stronger odours in a way that was almost as colourful as the fruit and veg around them. The punters themselves were just as vibrant as the produce they were buying. Old men who barely came up to Jasper's chest argued emphatically with the vendors over prices, old Italian grandmothers - 'Nonnas' - fussed with their friends and herded piles of screaming children as they darted between the stall legs. Slick men in linen suits smiled and smoked as they tested the freshness of the fruit and pretty women laughed as the salesmen vied for their patronage with shouted words of encouragement. 

Giulia danced into the throng and spun like a ballerina, taking in the sight with a sweet laugh and a deep gaze. She was something out of an old movie, a classical Italian Black and White film where the characters were rich enough to provide the colours themselves. She stopped and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, so deep it seemed she was drinking in the entire market. Jasper watched her with a smile as she exhaled with a face of serene satisfaction, sighing as she did. Opening her eyes she met his as he watched and with a giggle she beckoned for him to join her. She was radiant he thought, her light dress flowed softly in the hot breeze, her legs were poised and perfect, she moved as though she were dancing, hopping and skipping as she went and every movement of her arms was purposeful and yet infinitely graceful. He grinned. And then he laughed. How could such a person, in such a place exist he thought in wonder as he walked over to her. She held out her hand without looking and he took it, allowing himself to be led through the stalls as she chattered about the fruits. All he could think of was how indescribably perfect she was. It was as though he had dreamt her and somehow she had stepped out of his dreams and now here she was, treading the ancient streets with him. 

"Here see?" She asked him, tossing him a strangely shaped fruit. After a moment of study he saw it was a fig but had no idea what she had been saying about it.  

"Ah yes" he agreed.  

"Yes?" She took her hand back and put her hands on her hips, her face disapproving. "Jasper you aren't paying very good attention now". He gave her a sheepish grin. 

"No sorry, I was distracted by the smell of fish." He glanced around at the colourful scene, looking for the fishmongers and smiled.  

"Look at the fig Jasper" she laughed, clicking her fingers at him. He looked down and rolled it in his hands but couldn't see what the point was. It was a little lumpy and misshapen as far as he could tell. 

"It looks... lovely"  

"It is not supposed to be lovely Jasper. It is ugly, this is the point. And in being ugly it is beautiful" she handed the old vendor some change and he took his cap off in salute. "Here, see" she took a small pocket knife out of a hidden pocket in her dress, which made Jasper widen his eyes in surprise. She laughed at him "it is useful for the bar. Also for stealing things from Englishmen" she said with a twinkling eye. They laughed and she took the fig from him cutting into it. A thick syrup bled from the cut and she expertly halved it in her hand, giving one half to him as she bit into the centre of hers, making a slurping sound that was neither attractive nor particularly unattractive as she did so. Jasper bit into his too and was immediately overwhelmed by how rich it was. The sweetness of the flesh tasted like a room full of dancers on his tongue, the large amount of small pips added a satisfying crackling crunch and the syrup overflowed down his chin. Giulia let out a contented sigh as she chewed and then swallowed, Jasper watching her slender throat as the small mouthful slid down it, disappearing from sight behind her collarbones. She grinned at him and wiped a small amount of juice from the corner of his mouth as he swallowed himself. It was like drinking molasses. 

"You see?" She grinned at him "it is ugly no? But it is the sweetest thing there is. Just like you I am sure" it took him a second to register the backhanded compliment and she was already taking a new bite with a gleeful grin hiding in her eyes by the time he managed to flash a small frown, the mirth in her face making it unable to hold the negative action long though. He swallowed again, methodically. 

"Just like me..." he chewed another bite looking mockingly pensive "it hides its true beauty below a tragic layer of necessary armour" he stared off into the middle distance, looking very much like the somber hero from a Dumas novel or a Cornwell page-turner. Giulia looked briefly concerned and then noticed the slight smile playing over his mouth and punched him on the arm. 

"Armour for the knight of bicycles and figs" she smiled her brightest smile and several shop owners were visibly dazzled, or so he thought. She artfully threw the remnants of her fig into a nearby bucket with a satisfying clang and thrust her arm through his before he had any say in the matter. "Come my Fig-knight, it is time for my next spectacle." He threw his fig at the bucket, missed and went to collect it but she was already dragging him off by the arm, the fruit stand owner shouting angrily in Neapolitan dialect after them, Giulia merely laughing as they went.  

Who we could have been

The tiles on the floor seemed to shift slightly as I walked through the hallway. The large, square, faux-mosaic I'm sure was meant to seem impressive to those who entered the great glass building through which I shuffled. But I focused on the individual tiles. Tiny squares chipped out of great slabs of marble, chiselled and filed and sanded and buffed down to these seemingly insignificant pieces which come together to form a greater whole that I'm sure had some great and unique property to the company that had built them but to me right then I couldn't help but focus on the insignificant individual.  

Something touched my arm and I looked up, a face asked me if I was OK, I smiled and nodded, awkwardly signalling that I was indeed OK, although the last thing I was was that. The tiles slid past, creating their shapes, morphing into some gaudy diagram as I stepped one foot over the other across the oversized entrance hall which was probably supposed to impress. My small group stopped in front of a pair of large, cold sliding doors at the edge of the tiles and another face asked me if I had any items on me I wished to deposit. I smiled again and said no. We moved through the doors, their mechanical whirr and obnoxious sigh seemed deafening over the melodic footsteps that filled the tiled floor-space in which our sorry looking gathering stood. They were sorry. I saw that. The faces around me were all very sorry, and I looked at them with what I felt must have been to be a reassuring smile, which some returned to me in kind and others looked away from. It was all a great theatre. Nobody was comforting, nobody was sorry. They were doing what had been expected of them, the faces were telling one story whilst the minds were saying another. No-one wanted to be here, and I really couldn't blame them. The last place on this gorgeously imperfect planet I wanted to be was walking across that horrific, ostentatiously oversized, tiled hallway and through those damned doors, barriers to the rest of the world.  

I closed my eyes. I could have been anywhere. 
 
The river wound past the window of the hotel, gently swaying the boats that were gathered along the banks, advertising bars that were closed or shops that had yet to open. The pale light of dawn lit the rooftops in a grey-scale and soft gold that created a feel of a sort of purgatory, not yet light, but more than dark, as if the city waited for something to emerge, the gentle inhale before an exalted sigh of release. The orange and yellow streaks flung themselves across the sky with the first bolt of the morning sun reaching out to grasp the great domes and columns of the eternal city. They bounced across the balcony's ledge, painting the sky in a sudden myriad of colour, the cloudless grey-gold becoming now red and orange and blue. Rome rose out of the dawn light and I turned back into the room to watch him rise up with it from the covers, propping himself up on one elbow and gently blinking back the sleep from his eyes, before smiling and beckoning me over from where I stood on the balcony edge, wrapped up in the sheet. I smiled and thought how amazing it was to have been there with the sun, the city and with this beauty languishing before me. 

 A small child slid past me wearing a luminous green full body jumpsuit, with grace and ease that made me hate him immediately. He was probably French I thought. I stuck my poles into the thick powder and tried to steady myself as the boy arrogantly flicked his heels and disappeared around the approaching bend. I grimaced as I came to a slow and uneven stop, my skis bent into an ugly snowplough, white powder crunching and grinding under my braking manoeuvre. "Enjoying yourself there?" came a voice from above me, followed by an immediate flurry of powder aimed right at my head, as my brother flung himself in a tight loop around my position in the centre of the slope, his skis in an elegant parallel. I swore, loudly and colourfully at his helmeted face, which only made him throw back his head in rich laughter. "Come over here and say that" he ordered, sticking his tongue out at me as he twisted artfully and sped off down the mountain. Grimacing again I pushed off and followed him down for a good six feet before pitching head over heels to land with both feet pointing back up the way I had come. With a sigh I wondered why on earth I had ever agreed to this trip in the first place and spat a wad of snow out of my mouth. 

 The sun stroked the undulating horizon, glinting off the rising and falling of the sea as the far off waves rose and fell against the sky that was gently changing from a turquoise blue usually only found in gemstones or films of far off planets to a ever deepening pink, then red as the glare of sunlight slowly rode the crest of the waves, before quietly sinking beneath them and drowning itself in the dark azure of the Indian ocean. The sand enveloped my toes as I stood, gently massaging the soles of my feet as I wriggled them further down, watching the granules slowly pour over their sun browned tops. Each finely ground grain of that beach began life as a great cliff face, being weathered away by the relentless attrition of the sea as it lapped and drove, breaking off pieces, sinking them before chiselling and filing and buffing them down to these insignificant pieces that came together to form part of this warm and soft whole now cradling my well worn feet. I looked out at the waves wondering what I should like to have for that evening's meal as the smell of the ocean, that briny-fresh aroma, was gently overcome by the intricate spices being infused into one of the meals at the local restaurant. I thought then, where else could such a positive stimulation of all of the senses be found in the world, this beautiful and imperfect world. A bell rang and I hopped up, back to my shift on the little bar carving coconuts for tourists to pay through the nose for. 
 
The doors sighed shut behind me, and a gentle shiver begun at the base of my spine, but I was able to stop it before it reached my shoulders. More faces smiled at me as I entered the long and skinny room. A single table spanned the length of it and an artistically designed, but functionally inappropriate catering display was in the centre. I smiled at the faces already there and they smiled back. Our minds presumably saying what words and facial expressions would not.  

I nodded at the few named faces I could place, then nodded at the rest because it would have been poor etiquette to not have pretended I could have labelled them. I thought at that moment how nice it would be to have been any one of those other faces at that moment, and instead of me standing here I could have been sitting there.  

I thought how nice it would have been to be anyone else. 
 
The canopy rattled gently in the warm breeze. I stared out over the wide meander in the river below me, watching as it slowly ate its way through the surrounding dust, sand and vegetation. The sun had gone down around three hours ago, although that was hard to tell because we had no time pieces other than the stars themselves, and as I waseducated in the West I was of little use keeping time in this manner, I could have been there for ten minutes, I could have been there for ten hours. It interested me how I did not care either way. The eerie peace that emanated from the surrounding flora and fauna was both calming and haunting. It transfixed me and I was content to sit in the intense comfort provided by being out away from the usual hubbub and noise of life back at home. The ambient fear of being surrounded by howling snorting, screaming wild things under a ceiling of velvet black was freeing in a way no one could understand had they not experienced it themselves.  I looked over at the sleeping figures of my fellow adventurers, watching their chests rise and fall as we all inhaled and exhaled the cool, dry night air of the Savannah. The river made it's gentle gurgling sounds 50 feet below us as it lapped calmly against the cliff's foot. I closed my eyes and sighed, leaning back against the base of the gnarled, rough old tree behind me, with its peeling bark and low sweeping leaves and let the darkness cradle me a while before it was time to wake the next watchman. 

 I woke up from my small bed, promptly banging my head on a low hanging ceiling beam as my heart raced at a terrified pace. Sitting there in sweat drenched sheets I attempted to gather my mind, to focus on what was happening and kick myself from my fearful state. After a while it happened and in a rush of quelling panic I remembered where I was. Slumping back down into the hard school bed, I kicked open the window with the toes of my left foot and lazily , blindly reached out for a cigarette and it's lighter I had left on the windowsill next to me a few hours before. The little orange flame illuminated the closer portion my dingy dorm room for a brief instant before going out again and leaving behind the melancholy glowing tip of the lit cigarette. The smoke spun and swirled and chased itself out of the window, eviscerating on the converging air currents between my warm small dorm room and the cold January night air. I shivered a little as the nicotine hit my system, the warm tingle creeping its way from the base of my spine, up my lower back, through my central organs to end rolling its way around my shoulders. I finished the cigarette and expertly flicked it from my reclined position out of the window, to land three stories down near a set of kitchen bins I knew the cleaners tended to frequent for their smoke breaks. The small cloud of sparks from the flick hung in the air for a second, providing the last traces of illumination before extinguishing, leaving nothing but the flecks of lighter ash to drift gently down to the dorm room floor. Lying back I fought to settle back to sleep, knowing that it wouldn't come for a while but content to give it my best try anyway. 

 I scraped the hoe through the ground one last time, watching the soft black mud roll over the drier topsoil before i lent back, stretching up, feeling something crack slightly ominously in my lower back as I raised my hands to the sky and let out a terrific yawn from the depths of my stomach. My son giggled at that so I went to give him a light cuff to the back of the head but he expertly ducked it and skipped away with a cheeky grin and boyish laugh, swinging his bag of seed gently with him, protecting it from spilling as had been drilled into him at a young age. I shook my head but let him go, hiding a wry smile as I turned away in false disdain. I was content. The field was sown well ahead of my earlier predictions and the barest wisps of vapour were beginning to show hanging over the hill, probably invisible to the untrained eye but clearly showing me that rains would fall tonight, or perhaps tomorrow. I surveyed the surrounding country, the rolling hills a splash of cobalt blue and deep green against the backdrop of a setting sun which cut the sky into a neat pallet of colours stretching from light reds and yellows in the west through the spectrum to deep violet and navy blue to the east behind me. The hills gave way in the distance to the little subsistence farmsteads of my local village which spread out over the grasslands in an idyllic tranquillity which lent an atmosphere of contentment, as though they had been there a thousand years and really wouldn't mind if they remained for a thousand more. 

 I sat down at the table and smiled gently as the faces all around me nervously watched their hands, the food, each other and not me. I probably thought that that was a little rude, but I couldn't be sure as I wasn't really thinking of much by this point. There was a small painting on the wall opposite me, and although a great number of other paintings and prints and photos occupied the encasing walls, this one in particular caught my eye. It was a simple schematic of the building in which I was sitting.  

Again I thought how interesting this was, thinking anything I could but what I should. I thought again I could have been anywhere, been anyone, and yet here I was, within the confines of that six inch by eight inch diagram, at a table with perhaps twenty faces looking at me, perhaps twenty minds screaming at each other, at me. The cacophony of thoughts tore away my smile leaving nothing but yet another empty face at a table. Someone touched my arm. Someone looked me in the eyes and asked me if I was OK. I couldn't smile then and someone turned to the other faces and said that it was time to begin. Six inches by Eight inches. Twenty faces.