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Dudley Chalk had to enter the forest to find a missing man.
Could you do it? |
Wishing
Chapter 2
He finished the cigarette, stubbing it out with a sudden sadness as though he were putting down a beloved pet. This party, this Singles Club, wasn't for him. Somehow he would have to don his armour and brave the formidable Myra Bishop to explain that he had somewhere else to be.
He pushed the ashtray into the centre of the round table and made to stand, when he was distracted by the sound of someone coming out through the patio doors. He turned to see a very short man who had left the party to further pollute the patio with smoke. Adam smiled and nodded and expected him to do the same, but was surprised to see the man march toward him carrying a small piece of paper. March was perhaps the wrong word. He seemed to be either very drunk or was easily diverted by the unpredictable patio construction, because he seemed to move in erratic 'L' shapes, causing his progress to be slow yet entertaining. Adam was concerned that the man, holding out the paper as if it were a lance, might end up in the bushes.
In a broad Irish accent he said, “I’m to give you this.”
“Thanks. What is it?”
The little man waved an unlit cigarette toward the house. “A note from your friend so it is. Too cold for her out here. Can’t say I blame her, it’s bloody freezin'. Did you know more smokers die of frostbite than cancer these days?”
“No, I didn’t. Which friend, exactly?”
“The pretty lass in the red dress. The only looker here.”
“Of course,” said Adam, sounding confident enough to work for the Government, but not behind a desk.
He flipped open the folded note and carried it to the light of a nearby window. The message, written in a large, confident, artistic hand said: ‘Thank you. I’d love to, but the patio is a bit too cold. I’ll meet you by the crab sticks. Lisa.’
“Ok are ya?” the little man asked. “You look a bit giddy, so you do. Sit yourself down at the big round table here me lad, me old girths kin, ah it's for the craic so it is and share a wee drop of the old country with us.”
Adam stared at him. “Are you really this Irish?” he asked.
“Er, no, but the ladies love it.”
Adam waved a thankful hand at the little man. “I made a wish, and it came true,” he said, looking up at the sky where his wish-giving firework had burst into a million little stars.
“Wished for a piece of paper did ya?” the little man asked. “You need bigger goals son.”
He finished the cigarette, stubbing it out with a sudden sadness as though he were putting down a beloved pet. This party, this Singles Club, wasn't for him. Somehow he would have to don his armour and brave the formidable Myra Bishop to explain that he had somewhere else to be.
He pushed the ashtray into the centre of the round table and made to stand, when he was distracted by the sound of someone coming out through the patio doors. He turned to see a very short man who had left the party to further pollute the patio with smoke. Adam smiled and nodded and expected him to do the same, but was surprised to see the man march toward him carrying a small piece of paper. March was perhaps the wrong word. He seemed to be either very drunk or was easily diverted by the unpredictable patio construction, because he seemed to move in erratic 'L' shapes, causing his progress to be slow yet entertaining. Adam was concerned that the man, holding out the paper as if it were a lance, might end up in the bushes.
In a broad Irish accent he said, “I’m to give you this.”
“Thanks. What is it?”
The little man waved an unlit cigarette toward the house. “A note from your friend so it is. Too cold for her out here. Can’t say I blame her, it’s bloody freezin'. Did you know more smokers die of frostbite than cancer these days?”
“No, I didn’t. Which friend, exactly?”
“The pretty lass in the red dress. The only looker here.”
“Of course,” said Adam, sounding confident enough to work for the Government, but not behind a desk.
He flipped open the folded note and carried it to the light of a nearby window. The message, written in a large, confident, artistic hand said: ‘Thank you. I’d love to, but the patio is a bit too cold. I’ll meet you by the crab sticks. Lisa.’
“Ok are ya?” the little man asked. “You look a bit giddy, so you do. Sit yourself down at the big round table here me lad, me old girths kin, ah it's for the craic so it is and share a wee drop of the old country with us.”
Adam stared at him. “Are you really this Irish?” he asked.
“Er, no, but the ladies love it.”
Adam waved a thankful hand at the little man. “I made a wish, and it came true,” he said, looking up at the sky where his wish-giving firework had burst into a million little stars.
“Wished for a piece of paper did ya?” the little man asked. “You need bigger goals son.”
