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    Short Stories, Sweet and Sour Fiction
    Short Stories, Sweet and Sour Fiction
    Short Stories, Sweet and Sour Fiction
    Ebook72 pages57 minutes

    Short Stories, Sweet and Sour Fiction

    By Jane Palmer

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    About this ebook

    The bonds people forge can be glorious, everlasting and filled with devotion. All too often they are problematic and dogged by regrets. Many more are not what they seem. Devotion to a lost partner is one thing, devotion to the long dead quite another, and an orang-utan with a sweet tooth can be more appreciative than the family everything has been sacrificed for.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDodo Books
    Release dateMar 20, 2013
    ISBN9781301020355
    Author

    Jane Palmer

    Jane is interested in psychology, astronomy, history, archaeology, palaeontology, anthropology, photography, publishing, geology, and flying (theoretical) kites - though expert in none; and is a teetotal, vegetarian coeliac.

    Read more from Jane Palmer

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      Book preview

      Short Stories, Sweet and Sour Fiction - Jane Palmer

      Short Stories,

      Sweet and Sour Fiction

      by

      Jane Palmer

      This edition published by Dodo Books

      Copyright Jane Palmer 2013

      This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to

      persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

      Stories

      Florence for Tea

      3,660 words

      An appetite for freedom.

      Souls Remembered

      900 words

      The night does not forget the long dead.

      Café Peculiar

      1,750 words

      Strange tea and sympathy.

      Olive's Iceberg

      2,000 words

      The greater Universal reality.

      Sequins and Sapphires

      2,980 words

      Empty lives and buried treasure.

      The Blooming of Brock's Bog

      1,750 words

      Beauty can bring to light the oddest things.

      Green Amber

      2,250 words

      Cyanide - a bitter sweet solution.

      Revenge and Chips

      1,600 words

      Cheap food to celebrate hard won retribution.

      FLORENCE FOR TEA

      It was difficult to move silently through the litter of last year's twigs in the oversized Wellingtons borrowed from the zoo. The vet carrying a case containing tranquillizing darts and a gun had not expected to be dragooned into manoeuvres which would have exhausted the Territorial Army: she had merely expected to look at the recurring rash on the ear of an elderly lemur. Nothing had been mentioned about stunning a large arboreal primate with a sweet tooth.

      'For pity's sake!' the vet complained to the nearest zoo attendant. 'She's harmless. Why couldn't you just leave some food out and let her come back in her own time?'

      'Head Keeper don't want the press to pick it up.'

      'And he thinks a battalion of beaters ploughing through the countryside isn't going to attract attention?'

      'What if she reaches the village? Just hope there's no ice cream van doing its rounds. You know what our Florence would do for an ice cream, don't you.'

      The vet said nothing. She knew only too well what Florence would do for something sweet. It was a wonder she could still get off the ground.

      The late spring air was warm, the sun at its height and the birds busy defending their territories and feeding young.

      Monica slammed down a handful of cutlery onto the garden table as though declaring war with the plates stacked at its other end.

      'Of course we'll come and see you every now and then,' her sons had promised. 'And we'll bring all the family. Be prepared!'

      So Monica left her luxury yacht, bought a cottage in the country, and a sturdy garden table which could seat twenty. And how often had that table been used? Three times. Once for the vicarage's garden fete and twice by the fuchsia society. Now the grass underneath it was dying.

      As she brought out a strawberry cheesecake and plate of cress sandwiches the once mistress of her own destiny considered donating the table to the village hall. But there was one last purpose it was going to serve before that. Monica went back to collect the chocolate éclairs and Black Forest gateau, which she dumped against the large platter of cheese scones that were sent rolling across the lacy tablecloth it had taken weeks to crochet.

      Of course, one o'clock was rather early to serve high tea, but as no one was coming to eat it the time was academic. The food could have been frozen if Monica had been prepared to allow confectionery to take up the space intended for the lovingly grown beans, peas and cauliflowers surrounded by a rabbit proof fence garlanded with spinning bottle tops to scare off the pigeons. Another exercise in futility; the wildlife here was relentless. At least you could shoot sharks menacing your snorkelling passengers and no one would have been any the wiser. Oh, how she wished to be back at sea.

      At last the table was filled with cutlery, crockery, glasses, sandwiches, sweets, savouries, cold soup, flower displays and serviettes; yet something was still missing. Yes, of course - people!

      Monica tossed a few chairs roughly into position and sat glowering at the spread. The vibrations she sent out deterred even the pigeons from coming down to try their luck. Perhaps she should invite some of those contractors waiting to fell the nearby local wood so they could build a slip road? No, they were trying to lower the value of her property and no one in the village would speak to her again if they saw the footprints of their muddy boots on her path. She could, of course, have invited some neighbours. Unfortunately all the locals here did was grumble about a world they knew nothing of, people on benefits in general, and luscious Lulu up Brook's Alley in particular. At least that woman took the trouble to look in the mirror before she stepped outside. Monica would certainly have allowed her on the luxury 55 foot yacht, regardless of how she had raised the fare. And Lulu would have added a bit of sparkle to her table, though Monica would have probably ended up branded as her madam or maid.

      There was nothing else for it; the only way now was

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