OUR GUEST AUTHOR TODAY IS ANGELA WREN. ANGELA IS SHARING AN EXCERPT FROM HER SHORT STORY 'ALICE' WHICH IS FROM THE 'SUMMER PATHS' ANTHOLOGY. #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
- Eva Bielby
- Aug 2
- 5 min read
Updated: Aug 3
Alice
§
By Angela Wren
Southampton, July 1982, Thursday
Alice dumped her makeup case on the bed. Not that there was much makeup in the square, silver piece of luggage. It was mostly a standard array of toiletries, a few valuables, and her hay fever medication. She gazed around the space that would be her home for fourteen days. It was neat and comfortable, efficiently furnished with light and airy decor. She looked at the bed.
“Room for two and no one to share it with,” she muttered, sinking down onto what turned out to be a soft mattress. Dad was right about getting away for a bit, she thought. Just not so right about this. She glanced at the window, the brackish water of the dock beyond, and the pouring July rain.
The thud of a large suitcase being deposited outside her door brought Alice out of her doldrums. Unpacking had to be done, and it would delay the inevitable requirement to talk to complete strangers, even though socializing was the last thing on her mind.
An hour or so later, she couldn’t avoid leaving her cabin any longer. Armed with her map of the ship and a book, she set off for the elevator and the Observation Lounge on the top deck. The gray of early evening was gathering, and through the persistent rain, she could make out the clock tower in the center of town. Alone at her table, she watched the drizzle for a while. The boredom forced her to open her book – a romance quickly chosen and bought on the way to the port. What the heck, she thought to herself, and turned to the first page.
“Are you waiting for someone to join you?” The mellow-toned male voice seemed to come from nowhere. Alice looked up and saw only windows, dockside, and a blurry reflection. Aware of a presence behind her, she turned.
“Erm, no, not really.”
“I’m also travelling alone,” he said. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
What the heck, thought Alice. “Erm, no, not at all,” she said making a mental note to track precisely how much ‘hecking’ she was doing. It might become a habit, and she wasn’t sure where that would lead. The man sat down and put his drink on the table.
Alice looked a little more closely at his face. Kind was the first descriptor that came into her head. And at least twenty years older than me, she thought.
“Alice,” she announced as she closed her book and put it on the table.
“Stephen Hurst,” said the man, offering her his hand.
Her hands clasped in her lap, she smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“First time,” he said.
“Me too.”
“No. That was a question,” said Stephen. “I’m something of a seasoned sea traveler, myself.”
“Ah.” Damn! I can’t even get introductions and small talk right these days. She wanted the posh blue carpet with its pattern of golden-colored anchors to swallow her up. The boat juddered and began to move very slowly away from the berth.
“It takes a while,” said Stephen. “We’ll be going the long way round into the Solent and then along the south coast of the Isle of Wight.”
“OK,” said Alice, thinking she’d prefer to be tucked up in her pajamas at home than on this jaunt paid for by her father. She looked across at her new companion. He smiled. Alice looked away and felt herself slip into another reality that didn’t involve any human interaction. Perhaps because of her silence or failure to
respond, the pause seemed to visibly elongate to the point of acute embarrassment. Alice could feel the color rising from her throat and into her cheeks.
“I see you are something of a reader,” said Stephen.
Alice’s attention switched to the red and pink colors of the chocolate box cover of the book and its title, Love on an Ocean Cruise. Suddenly, the impression that the novel might convey – a desperate female reading a story of happy ever after – discomfited her further. She felt her cheeks flush with the full force of crimson.
“No,” she said with rather more volume than intended. “That’s not mine.” She hesitated, unsure of how to persist with the lie. “It was just here. Erm, I just thought I’d have a look. See what it was like. That’s all.” Ugh! Did I really just say that? Alice looked away, aware that she had probably protested too much.
Stephen grinned. “I’m a bit of a reader, myself,” he said, taking a sip of his beer. “Both fiction and non-fiction. But when I’m on holiday, I like a good thriller. They run a book club on board if you’re interested.” “Ah, right. I probably won’t join,” said Alice. The last thing she wanted was to spend time with people who agonized over words and phrases. Books were for reading, for escaping into and enjoying, not for deep critical analysis. That was being back at school.
***
At dinner that evening, Alice was accompanied by seven other people she had never met before, all traveling alone. Three women of mature years and four men, of whom Stephen was one. She wondered if he’d somehow deliberately managed to be placed on her table but then dismissed the thought. As the last to arrive, Alice was compelled to sit between Stephen on her left and another man on her right, called Dan, whom she guessed to be old enough to be her grandfather. She looked around the table. So, I suppose this is where the last chance romancers come, she thought. Then she mentally admonished herself for the unkindness of the idea, but romance was definitely off her agenda.
The meal was excellent. The conversation was stilted to begin with, but eased as the wine flowed. Feeling a little more mellow, Alice agreed to take the elevator back to her cabin with Stephen as her escort. His cabin was also on deck three, but diagonally opposite to hers.
With her cabin door firmly closed behind her, Alice sighed.
“I suppose this will be the evening routine for the next two weeks: polite conversation with dinner, a shared lift ride with Stephen and then the lone stroll to our rooms,” she said to the air. She didn’t exactly shudder at the thought. After all, Stephen’s conversation had been much more interesting than anyone else’s. She turned instantly, checked the lock, and then double-checked to ensure the door was secure. She thought about the three sea days ahead and the confinement, the herding, and the enforced niceness she would have to endure.
**********
Angela Wren Author Bio & Links
Angela Wren is an actor and director at a small theatre a few miles from where she lives in the county of Yorkshire in the UK. She worked as a project and business change manager – very pressured and very demanding – but managed to escape, and now she writes books.
She has always loved stories and story-telling, so it seemed a natural progression to her, to try her hand at writing, starting with short stories. Her first published story was in an anthology, which was put together by the magazine ‘Ireland’s Own’ in 2011. She also works with 8 other northern writers to create the series of Miss Moonshine anthologies. Most recently, Angela has collaborated with 8 Canadian writers to create the Seasonal Paths collections and is embarking on a new challenge for a miscellany of stories linked by the elements.
Angela particularly enjoys the challenge of plotting and planning different genres of work. Her short stories vary between contemporary romance, memoir, mystery, and historical. She also writes comic flash-fiction and has drafted two one-act plays that have been recorded for local radio.
Her full-length novels are set in France, where she likes to spend as much time as possible each year.
LINKS
LinkTree : AngelaWren
Amazon : AngelaWren
Website : www.angelawren.co.uk
Blog : www.jamesetmoi.blogspot.com
Facebook : FacebookAngela Wren
Twitter : TwitterAngelaWren
Instagram : InstaAngelaWren
Threads : ThreadsAngelaWren
Bookbub : BookBubAngelaWren
Goodreads : GoodreadsAngela Wren
COMING SOON: On Monday, 4th August, our Team member, author Eva Bielby, will be sharing her Flash Fiction short story, 'Ice Cold Memories'.
Love these stories and I enjoy Angela's stories as well, She's a terrific author.
Thanks Eva