Double Parked

Reminiscence
Claudet awoke early to the cry of gulls, that piercing plaintive cry so often heard on those cold, crisp autumn and winter mornings just after daybreak, and before the sun has awoken to warm the day. This was the time of year she most enjoyed, when all the tourists having retreated from their summer migrations allowed the village to sink back into semblance of normality. She got out of bed and opened the window in order that she might better hear the gulls, and for that blast of cold morning air which would bring her wide awake. The sun was just showing itself over the horizon, surrounded by and coming up behind a bank of clouds. The sky at the horizon was a mass of violet purple, changing through various shades of reds, oranges and yellows to a beautiful azure blue, the higher in the sky one looked. The sun itself a brilliant orange-red, peeping between the holes in the clouds, to look at it direct was like looking into the heart of a furnace. Although the morning air was quite chilly, just looking at this large orange ball made her feel quite warm, even though it was not yet radiating much heat. Claudet's attention was drawn down to the sea, she noticed how all of the colours in the sky were reflected in it, and how if it were not for the sun being cut in two by the horizon it would be impossible to tell just where the sky ended and the sea began. She noticed that the slight swell of the previous day had changed, the waves having increased in size with their foaming crests turned into a spectrum of colours by the early morning light. There was a veritable symphony of sounds from the waves crashing against the foot of the cliffs, and even Turner would have been hard pressed to do justice to the spray leaping suicidally from the rocks.

She stood listening to this concert of nature, and cast her mind back over the last few years. Reflecting how Peter had come back into her life after four years working in the North of England. That was a little over four years ago now, that New Year party that she will never forget. She had been without a partner for several months since that bastard William had been caught with his prick well and truly up her sister Katie. He had insisted that it was an accident, but couldn’t explain how they had both ‘accidentally’ lost all of their clothing, how they had ‘accidentally’ fallen onto the bed with him on top of her, or how his prick had ‘accidentally’ slipped inside her. He even had the cheek to come up to her that evening, looking to get back together, as if nothing had happened, well, a glass of red wine down those favourite trousers of his soon sorted that out, earning her a round of applause. She remembered that she had then really got stuck into both the red wine and dancing, and that she had been pretty pissed when Peter turned up later in the evening. It was the first time she had seen him in four years, he had not been back since going away to work. They had spent the rest of the evening together catching up on old times.

Claudet and Peter had been at school together and she had always mourned the fact that he had never asked her out, then they had both gone off to university she to study history he civil engineering. She had stayed in London for a few years carving out a career in writing before moving back to Cornwall the week after Peter had headed north for work. She remembered how getting to know him again and made it plain to her that she wanted him, not just sexually, although that was very true, but as a part of her life. Somehow she had always known that she had loved him, perhaps, she thought, that was what had made commitment in previous relationship so difficult. She remembered buying this house from the old retired couple who had run a market garden across the road, and that, at the time, she had sort of known that Peter would come back to Portreal, and had hoped that they would share this beautiful property. It had been a struggle, even a gamble, and had been really hard in those early days when she had struggled to pay the mortgage, but now, thanks to her writing success, there was no mortgage, and Peter was lying in the bed sleeping peacefully.

But all of this was well documented in her diary, which she knew Peter had been reading, or hoped he had been, for almost a year now, she knew because she had deliberately left it in her desk, sometimes open at things she wanted him to read, for him with a note or something under it so that he had to pick it up. She had got the idea of leaving it lying around when she had the idea of using the first year after Peter came back as the basis for a novel. It had been her first attempt at an erotic novel, and it had surprised her by becoming a best seller. The only one who knew it was written by her was her publisher, her pseudonym of Andy Cox had everyone believing it had been written by a man. Andy had written a sequel and was working on the third. In the meantime she had also written two books as herself which were also selling well, so life was very pleasant. There was movement in the bed which brought her back to the present, she turned from the window and noticed that peter was in the process of waking up, time to go and prepare breakfast.

Author's Note
For those interested these are yesterday's word with their approximate definitions.

elflock
noun. a tangled lock of hair.
concupiscible
adjective. worthy of being desired.
betwixt
preposition adverb. between.
brabble
verb (used without object). to argue stubbornly about trifles
slugabed
noun. a lazy person who stays in bed long after the usual time for arising.
hagride
verb (used with object). to afflict with worry, dread, need, or the like
mickle
adjective. great
caliginous
adjective. misty
bookcraft
noun. literary skill
brainish
adjective. headstrong
constellate
verb (used with or without object). to cluster together, as stars in a constellation.
crapulent
adjective. sick from gross excess in drinking or eating.