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Before I was born…Chapter Twenty-five

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Le Canard Bleu

 Daisy dressed very flamboyantly for our night out.  I saw Scarlett wince a little as he floated down the stairs in an ensemble that plainly made him feel a million dollars. She managed not to comment much to my relief and left the compliments to me. 

 “Oh, you look, really er stunning Daisy.”  Stunning seemed like a good word, he would be flattered by it and it explained how we felt for quite different reasons.

 Stunned.

 He kissed me on both cheeks leaving smudges of bright orange lipstick on my face.  Scarlett moved back in time for his kisses to hit only the air. 

 “Have you worn that on stage yet?”  Scarlett’s eyes traversed the length of his gold sequined gown and rested on the diamante platform size thirteen’s poking out beneath the hemline.

 Daisy grinned to reveal orange lipstick smudges on his yellow teeth, “No this is the first outing, the christening, the debut!”

 “Wow,” said Scarlett dropping me a crafty wink.  “We must be off somewhere special then.  Are we underdressed for you Daisy?”

 He thoughtfully surveyed our outfits.  I wore a dark blue dress, a scarf printed with a fish pattern and ballet pumps.  Scarlett of course looked effortlessly glamorous in a cream leather mini dress; she wore her hair in a French knot and towered over me in caramel colour stilettos.  I felt invisible next to them.  “You’ll do.”

 “Where are we going?” Excitement and curiosity coursed through my veins.  Are we going to your club?”

 Daisy stroked his latest wig, a platinum blonde number that spilled over his broad shoulders.  “That’s an idea, we could do that later, not been there for ages.  No, I found a lovely little restaurant in one of those eatery guides, I’ve not been there before but it looks lush.”

 I guessed he’d learnt the word lush from the girls at the club.

 We clambered into a taxi and I watched the driver’s expression as he caught sight of Daisy in his rearview mirror.  He raised his eyebrows a little but managed to retain his composure, a quick glance at Scarlett seemed to reassure him he’d not been ambushed by drag queens, “Where to?”

 “Le Canard Bleu, d’yknow it dear?”

 “Nah mate, never heard of that one.”

 “Madam if you don’t mind.”

 Scarlett and I slid down in our seats wanting to disappear.  The driver raised his eyebrows and muttered an obscenity under his breath.  “Whatever.  What street is it on?”

 Daisy leant forward to show him the page he’d torn out of the guide.  His perfume filled the cab, a pungent sweet smell of cinnamon wafted up our nostrils. 

 “Oh yeah, I do know it, recently changed ownership. Used to be The Pink Duck, but was closed down by health and safety I think.  Wonder why they changed the colour to blue.”

 “Never mind about that, it has good reviews now so shall we be on our way?”

 “Right ho Duck,” said the driver and I couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter.  I could feel Scarlett giggling beside me and soon it became hysterics.  Daisy held his nose haughtily in the air doing his best to ignore us.  He adopted a different character when dressed as a lady, as if he thought anyone would really believe he was one with his broad shoulders, massive feet and square jaw line.  I so wished my father could see him now.

 It so happened Le Canard Bleu turned out to be a very friendly, relaxed place. Dasiy flirted outrageously with the waiters and they humoured him beautifully. For a few hours I found myself distracted from the worries of my aunt’s illness. 

 The wine flowed so freely the three of us soon became very merry. 

 Daisy excused himself to go to the toilet and Scarlett and I speculated which he would use and what a shock it would be for any man to find him in the gents.  Our eyes followed him to the door marked ‘Messieurs’ and we sniggered.  Then we forgot all about him because a muscular young man with the bluest eyes I had ever seen approached our table and struck up a conversation about the food.  Typically his attention focused on Scarlett and she seem entranced by him so it was only me who saw a very red faced man come flying out of the men’s toilet, his eyes bulging and mouth gaping.  I watched as he strode over to the bar and demanded to see the manager.  Daisy sauntered out behind him, pulling up his knickers beneath his dress: so much for being a lady.

 “What did you get up to in there?”  I asked as soon as he reached the table. 

 The young man handed Scarlett a card, nodded goodbye, cast a glance at Daisy and rapidly retreated into the depths of the restaurant. 

 “Well what do you think?”  He looked at me aghast.  “I went for a pee of course.”

 “But that man,” I pointed to the red faced balding man by the bar.  “He came out in one hell of a rush, as if he were being chased.”

 Daisy stared over at him.  “He should be so lucky!”

 “He’s asking for the manager.”

 “Well he can ask away, I’ve done nothing wrong.  Just used the urinal like any chap would do.”

 We giggled at the image of Daisy in his gold dress hitching it up to pee.

 “I don’t think he sees you as just any chap.”

 Somehow the manager did a good job of placating man with the red face; he glanced over at us and smiled. 

 “Best send him over a brandy.  Apparently he’s never seen a lady take a pee before.”  Daisy’s expression remained completely deadpan. 

 In the end we didn’t feel like going on to Daisy’s club, we were too tired and too drunk to bother.  We arrived home to find Maddy curled up on the sofa with Goddard.  I wanted to ask if it was Frank’s night off but Daisy beat me to it. 

 Maddy let forth a string of expletives at him, “You drunk pigs, what you know, eh?”

 Goddard sat up straight, “Frank?”

 Maddy protectively grabbed Goddard’s hand. “Take no notice him, he drunk and trying to wind you up darlin’.  Shutup you freak.  Look at what you wearing, mutton dressed up like Olympic bloody flame.”

 Daisy smiled a dangerously cool smile, “Frank left his Viagra behind. Do you want it Goddard? Then you too can make her scream with passion like he did the other night?”

 I felt I should stop him going any further but he’d already gone too far.  My head span with alcohol and I felt sick.  “That’s enough you two,” I said weakly but as if I didn’t mean it at all. 

 Daisy couldn’t be deterred from sticking the knife in further, “Not that we all want another sleepless night.  Stick something in her gob Goddard, to keep her quiet.”

 I pulled at Daisy’s arm, “Come on, I’ll make us coffee.”

 “He just jealous he no get no sex because he a freak, a FREAK!” screamed Maddy.

 Goddard sat, staring at the floor, his pigeon chest caving in on itself.  I wondered that she fancied him at all.  Poor Goddard, Frank seemed to be an arrogant git, but it could not be denied his looks were far superior. “I think I’ll go home.”  His weak little voice could barely be heard above Maddy’s expletives.

 I fell into bed still dressed and passed out.  The next thing I knew, spindly shards of daylight were poking through the curtains at me, shooting sharp hot pains through my head every time I squinted at them.  Memories of the night before replayed like a movie I’d seen a very long time ago.  I vaguely wondered if Goddard had gone home, if Maddy had killed Daisy and whether I would summon up the energy to call the agency.  I groaned and turned over onto my front.  I wanted to go to sleep again but the hangover pains and my rumbling stomach made me get up, grab a jumper and set off downstairs in search of a cure. 

 Armed with coffee and paracetamol I went into the sitting room to find Maddy curled up on the sofa next to a gently snoring Goddard.  The pathetic little trumpet player hadn’t even summoned up the energy to leave.  Maybe he actually loved Maddy.  I found that hard to believe, I’d never met anyone so selfish.  Perhaps one day she would fall in love and change.  It wasn’t a scenario I could imagine.  I decided to go back upstairs to my bed.  As soon as I reached my room my mobile rang.

 “I had to call an ambulance for Aunty Clara last night, she suddenly felt terrible. They think it might be a panic attack but are keeping her in for observation.  Can you come over?”  My mother sounded as if she were the one having the panic attack.

 “To the hospital?”

 “Of course to the hospital!” she snapped.

 I told her I’d be there as quickly as I could.  Shoving two paracetamol into my mouth, I took a gulp of coffee to wash them down then pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and scraped a comb through my hair.  Grabbing my jacket, I tucked it under one arm as I brushed my teeth.  My heart thumped in my chest.  Calm down, I thought, it’s probably nothing. 

 I bumped into Daisy as I came out of my room.  “Hey where are you off to? You look awful.”

 I explained, hastily thanked him for our night out and jumped down the stairs eager to get away.

 Typically everything seems to run in slow motion when you need to be somewhere fast.  People fumbled with their change at ticket machines, the tube seemed to wait far too long at stations, people walked too slowly and when I got to the hospital the corridors were crowded with people who wouldn’t get out of my way. 

 Mother had told me I’d find my aunt in the assessment unit; they hadn’t found her a bed on a ward yet.  I walked for miles trying to find it.  Eventually a young woman grabbed my arm, “You look lost,” she said kindly. “Can I help you?”

 Within minutes I found myself beside my pale aunt.  She smiled weakly and held out a hand, “Hello you.”

 I stared at the tubes in her arm.  “What happened?”

 “I felt bad but I’m feeling a little better now.”

 She didn’t sound convincing.

 “Bad how?”

 “Oh faint and lots of pain in my legs, I could barely stand up.  They feel, well they’re still aching but I think…” Her voice trailed off.

 I poured her some water.  The assessment ward housed eight beds.  An old man groaned in the corner.  The smell of poo crept up my nostrils.  This was no place for my favourite aunt. 

 “Where’s Mum?”

 “I sent her home to get some sleep.  Don’t want her collapsing as well.”  She smiled faintly.  “Sit here and tell me about being a fish, I need distracting.  You look pale yourself?”

 “Night out with Daisy and Scarlett, need I say more?”  I laughed a little.

 “Oh well you must tell me about that then!”  As she spoke she winced in pain.

 “Well Daisy looked a bit like the Olympic flame in his gold dress and platinum wig, Scarlett as usual turned heads because she is insanely gorgeous and I swam with the flow like the little fish I am.  We came home to find Maddy with her trumpet player who promptly had his illusions of Maddy’s faithfulness to him blown away by Daisy.  Living in that house is like living in a constantly erupting volcano.”

 Aunty Clara chuckled, “They are quite something aren’t they?”

 “No one needs to watch Eastenders for drama where we live, let’s put it that way.”  I stared intently at her.  “Can I get you anything?”

 “No dear, I’m too tired to read. It’s hot in here isn’t it?”

 I nodded my head and wanted to say the smell of poo didn’t help but refrained from doing so. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed and I didn’t want to draw her attention to it.

 “Tell me about being a fish.” 

 Why was she suddenly going on about my being a fish?  Then a distant memory floated into my mind of her honeymoon trip.  As a child she’d told me about how they went diving in tropical waters.  Maybe she wanted to relive it.  If it comforted her in anyway whatsoever, I would happily talk to her about my time as a fish.

 I sat on the high-backed chair next to her bed, leant across and stroked her arm as I spoke.  I felt like a parent telling a child a story, a fantastical story of aquatic creatures that had once been my companions in the London Aquarium.  A life of swimming around a large tank, wondering about the faces behind the glass, not ever knowing I would become one of them.  “I had a son,” I said, almost to myself, “I’ll never know what happened to him.”  I told her about the conger eels, the hungry sharks, the divers who would occasionally appear to examine us.  I had no idea why at the time of course, my fish brain saw them as weird aliens to be examined, but they were only there to check us for disease.  It occurred to me that as a Ray I lived without fear.  The aquarium was a protected environment, without any predators, no sea storms or oil spills, but a place of calm tranquility for us to exist and that’s all we did really: exist. 

 “Maybe that’s why I find this life a little bit much,” I gazed around the ward with the machine’s beeping and busy nurses, “I really miss the tranquility of the tank.”

 Aunty Clara sighed, her eyes closed. “If only we could all live like that, in a place of beauty and peace.”

 “Well it wasn’t exactly beautiful. Remember that book you showed me when I was little?  I’m sure I would have preferred to live in those tropical seas.”

 “You could get on a plane and visit them in this life instead.  Nothing can stop you, except yourself.”

 I didn’t know at that precise moment but I would carry her words with me for the rest of my life and pull them out of my subconscious whenever I became indecisive or scared.  Sometimes the greatest gift you can give a person is positive words, but I only came to realize that with maturity.  “I’m not going anywhere until you are better.”  I said in the full knowledge that this might never happen.  Then I realized something, not once had she said I was a fantasist or silly or having a laugh.  She seemed to accept my memories as the truth. Only Daisy had truly made me feel normal for remembering my previous life up until now and I thought that had something to do with him wanting to be accepted for who he was too.

 Suddenly she reached over and grasped my hand and held it as tightly as her weakened state allowed.  “You will go though, won’t you?” she demanded, spittle forming on her lips, “Swear to me you will.”

 I returned the pressure, “Yes I will Aunty Clara, I will.”  At that very moment I’d have abseiled down the hospital building if she’d demanded it, but I resolved to do it, not only to please her but to satisfy my own curiosity.  

 “And another thing.”

 I waited, somewhat concerned that there was another thing.

 “Find a man who loves you, not some idiot who plays you around.  This Ryan, well he doesn’t see your worth. Don’t waste your time on those that don’t realize your worth.”

 I sucked in my breath; this was more difficult, I couldn’t help my feelings.  “Hmm.”

 “No hmm about it, there are good men in the world, don’t rest until you find one.”

 I imagined myself as ninety and still looking.  “Yes Aunty Clara.” I chimed like a ten year old in response to the calling out of the register. 

 Before I could be made to commit to any more demands I asked when Tammy and Christian were likely to arrive.

 “I haven’t called them yet.”

 My mouth dropped open.  “You what? You better give me their numbers and I’ll call them.  I can’t believe you haven’t called them, that’s crazy!”

 “They are so busy, I don’t want them worrying and coming all the way back here to find I’m all right.”

 “But you’re not all right.”  My voice became a little shrill and the woman in the bed opposite glared at me over the top of her glasses.  “Sorry,” I said and waved an apologetic hand.  “They’ll be so upset if they find out about all this…” I wanted to say ‘too late’ but manage to stop myself just in time.

 “They are so wrapped up in their own lives these days.  I don’t want to disturb them.  I haven’t spoken to Christian for nearly a month.”

 I saw the pain in her eyes and suddenly felt furious.  “Give me their numbers, I’ll call them.”

 “Oh they are in my address book at home.”

 “Don’t you have your mobile with you?”

 “No, we left in such a rush.”

 I felt my cheeks reddening in frustration and fury.  “I’ll call them later when Mum gets here.”

 “Let’s wait. I’m sure they’ll let me out tomorrow.”

 “I don’t care. I’ll call them whether you are here or not.”  I heard my voice crack with emotion and steadied myself, I didn’t want to upset her.

 For the next few hours I never left her side, except to go pee.

© Petra Kidd 2013

Before I was born onto land… I was a fish

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

 Also by Petra Kidd  

The Eight of Swords

The Putsi

Revenge Double

You can connect with Petra Kidd via Twitter @PetraKidd or visit her

Facebook page here  Petra Kidd Writes

The next chapter of Before I was born onto land I was a fish will be posted next Sunday.

 

Midweek hello

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Blackbird in blue

I’ve been so busy writing Before I was born, I haven’t done any ‘normal’ blogposts lately so here we are, here is one.

I’m very glad I got nagged into rewriting ‘Fish’ as I call it for short.  The decision to post two chapters a week to discipline my writing time and editing is working very well so far.  It is much more manageable doing it this way than to get carried away writing reams without being forced to go back and edit on a regular basis.  It’s not often I say this but the naggers were right to persist and thankfully they aren’t too smug about it either.

Our snowy fortnight helped too.  Pretty much housebound apart from a walk every day and the odd visit to the local pub, at last I could settle and concentrate with very little distraction.  Actually there did happen to be some distraction in the form of my hobby photography.  If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook you will have seen pictures of my feathered pal Billy Blackbird who now features on my photo blog Chillout pics plus a gallery of snowy scenes.  Who can resist the white stuff?

As soon as we could see tarmac again and travel down the hill without sliding into abandoned cars, I worried a little about my enforced isolation coming to an end and how it would affect my writing time.  Luckily it hasn’t so far.  While I cursed the snow for affecting my business, the upside proved very helpful and my writing mojo has well and truly been kicked into action.

Come the next ice age (if we are not already in one); who knows what I might achieve?

When Before I was born eventually comes to an end on the blog, I hope to publish it as an eBook so keep an eye here for further details.  I know some people would rather read it in that form, and it will happen eventually.

As soon as Before I was born is ready for publishing, it won’t be long before another eBook is on the way as I have almost completed the first draft.  My challenge is to ePublish three eBooks this year so watch this space!

Find Petra Kidd via Social Media

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Just to let you know there are a number of ways to connect with Petra Kidd now. 

You can find me as @PetraKidd on Twitter.com which is where I am everyday having a chat, promoting my ebooks and sharing news.  Follow me and I’ll follow you back! 

Twitter is where I am most regularly but I also have a Facebook page which is now http://www.facebook.com/PetraKiddWrites.  Here you can find regular updates from this blog, news about my writing, and other interesting stuff I pick up from the world of reading along the way.  Like everyone else, I need more likers for my page so if you do like it please don’t be shy just click on the Like button!

Linkedin is another place I like to connect with other authors, publishers, reviewers etc and people from my local business community.  It’s a nice quick way to see what is going on but is more formal so I don’t chat there, it’s mainly updates from me on my writing. http://www.linkedin.com/pub/petra-kidd/40/475/199

Triberr.com is a site for bloggers which was recently suggested to me.  I am finding my way around at the moment but please look me up if you are a member too.  I just created the Tribe Ebook Warriors so if you are an ebook author let me have your name and I will send you an invite!

If you are an avid reader and haven’t discovered Goodreads yet then make sure you take a look.  You can find and list books you have read, leave reviews, discuss what you’ve read with other members, search for new titles to read and it’s great fun!  I have a reader and author page there and am busy trying to find time to leave more reviews.  Add my short story ebooks via Goodreads, The Eight of Swords and The Putsi.

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5430226.Petra_Kidd/blog

Something else I’ve only recently joined is Google+ but I have growing circles so am getting there gradually.  If you’d like to connect with me there that would be great!

And last but not least you can find Petra Kidd at SheWrites a site for female authors.  I wouldn’t normally suscribe to a single sex site but this is such a good one and a great way to connect with writers across the globe.

http://www.shewrites.com/profile/PetraKidd

So if you have questions, comments or want to know where I am, you are bound to find me on one of these!  See you somewhere if not everywhere! :)

Click & Publish

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I decided a couple of weeks ago that although I had written The Eight of Swords in 2011 it would be a great start to 2012 to publish it on New Year’s Day.

Although I have been writing in various forms for the past 10 years on and off, it wasn’t until 2011 that my creative brain really kicked in again and I got to rekindle my passion for writing.   Life has been busy, business got in the way of writing, then family health problems took up a few years so it is probable that being on a more even keel once again gave me the brain space to create stories.

Another change has been ebook publishing.  10 years ago this didn’t exist so I wrote a couple of long manuscripts, sent them off to a few agents, got nowhere, gave up.  Instead I focused on my business.  The business I set up with the idea I would do that for a few days a week and write the rest of the time!  How naive was I?  Soon that took up all my time and wore me out into the bargain.

Finally I seem to have achieved some kind of balance and am coping with both.  Winter is a good time for writing so right now I am trying to cram in as much as possible.

Another amazing thing to happen in 2011 was that I joined NorRaceChicks, a feisty group of people who wanted to run the Race for Life.  The group formed via Twitter and went on to do lots of other events throughout the year.  We have all become great friends and all support each other in whatever challenges we face, personal or business.  The reason I mention this is that when I wrote The Tweet Up and posted it on my blog, suddenly I had readers.  This made all the difference, a bit of pressure does you good!

Feedback from my new group of friends really spurred me on, the NorRaceChicks push me to write more, I want to entertain them and the wider world now.  It really shows how such wonderful support and encouragement can change your life.

When I clicked ‘publish’ on Amazon yesterday, the confidence to do it came through the encouragement of the best family and friends anyone could wish for.

Ebook publishing appealed to me because it meant I had total control over the cover design and could write without being asked to tailor the story to publisher demand.  It means I have to take charge of my own editing and proof reading, and formatting.  I love to learn new things and this has been a real lesson.  Another thing I have to do is market the ebook, again this is a huge learning curve.  It will be a challenge but I think it could be the next most satisfying thing I have achieved next to my business.

This doesn’t mean to say I won’t go the traditional route again in the future.  As much as I love all the new technology and freedom it gives, I love real life paper books too.  They will always be special. 

As 2012 progresses I will update here how my new venture into ebook publishing goes.

Happy New Year everyone!  I hope 2012 is the year you get to achieve your dreams too.. be brave :)

 

The Tweet Up – Part Six

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At first Millicent thinks a mewling cat has woken her but as her senses gain clarity she realises it is the cry of a human.  It isn’t loud but it is persistent.    Rolling across crimson cotton sheets she reaches for her touch lamp and checks her wristwatch, it’s nearly 2am.  The door buzzer sounds, a long a low vibration resounding through the hall like a large determined fly.  Her heart flips then pounds in her ears. 

 Thank goodness for the video camera installation, she thinks as she hastily wraps her shoulders in a cashmere shawl and tiptoes into the hall.  Pressing the view button a small huddled form appears between flickering lines across the screen.  The face suddenly lifts upward at the camera and Millicent recognises it, hesitating only a moment she decides to press the entry button.  The girl appears to be alone.

 Millicent steers Abby’s slim body, through to the spacious lounge and presses her by the shoulders into a caramel leather couch.  The bulb flickers in Millicent’s favourite Lampadari standard lamp, Abby blinks in the half-light, her pixie face stained with tears.  They sit in silence for a few moments, Millicent with one arm across Abby’s shoulders and her other hand free to stroke her Persian cat Kumquat who purrs serenely.  “When you are ready, tell me what is going on.  Just take it easy though, you’ve obviously had a fright of some kind.”

 “I’ve been getting hassle from someone, he thinks I know where Romana is.”  Abby pauses to wipe at her nose with an already soaked tissue. Her words tumble out in a garbled rush.

 “What did he want?”  Another voice hovers in the air.  “Who is he?”

 Abby looks up to see a pale-faced Romana standing in the doorway, dark hair loose about her shoulders.  She is dressed in men’s paisley pyjamas.  Abby can’t decide if it’s more of a shock to see the usually ultra stylish Romana in the pyjamas or to see her here at all.  “Oh God, oh I’m so glad you are ok!” 

 Romana repeats her questions; her words weighted and slow as if she thinks Abby didn’t understand the first time.

 It takes a few moments for Abby to compose herself.  She sits upright and Millicent’s arm drops from her shoulders like a lead weight. 

 “Just some bloke I met on Twitter, he seemed fascinated by you and somehow knew that we’d met.  I don’t know how.  I thought he was probably just some crazy fan of yours so I blocked him but he kept sending me direct messages.  Then he found out where I live by going to my uni and asking around.  He’s been hassling me quite a bit, freaking me out.  I even thought about telling the police but as he hasn’t actually done anything physical or committed a crime there’s apparently nothing I can do.”  She pauses, takes a deep breath and continues “the thing is he keeps lurking around wherever I go, tonight I was out with some friends at a club, they were drunk, I decided to leave early, went to wait for a taxi and there he was, watching me from a doorway so I just ran for it.  I remembered you lived along this way, Romana told me.”

 Romana looks confused for a moment, she can’t quite remember if this is true but supposes it must be. She moves forward into the room in silence, her expression very grave.  “Poor you, how frightening.”

 Millicent rises, “I’m going to make us all some tea.”  She moves towards her immaculate aubergine colour kitchen, which is only ever used to make tea or warm the occasional croissant.  Spotlights gradually glow alight, casting shadows on the shiny worktops.  Abby watches as Millicent moves swiftly from cupboard to cupboard pulling out tea bags and delicate looking mugs. 

The world around them slumbers on in deep silence, even though they are in the centre of the city nothing stirs. It is too early for the street cleaners and the last of the clubbers have staggered home.  For an hour or so, the darkness gets to contemplate without disturbance.  It is somehow reassuring to hear the sound of Millicent’s vintage kettle whistle, the perky squeal makes them jump.

 “Twitter has a lot to answer for.”  Abby mumbles staring at her hands.

 “What do you mean?”  Millicent has returned with a tray bearing three china mugs, each printed with delicate bird designs.  “This is herbal tea, a pacifying blend of camomile and honey.”  

 “Well Romana did give away a lot of information, enough to hook his interest. He could recite some of your tweets word for word.”  Abby sighs, “he wanted to know more and more.”

 “We can all be a bit guilty of that Abby.” 

 “I’m not blaming Romana, just saying how it is.  We all make that mistake when we get carried away chatting to people.

 “We did ought to speak to the police.”  Millicent’s eyes are puffy with sleep but her voice is sharp and concerned, scared even.

 Romana looks up sharply “no!”

 “But this is beyond anything we can deal with, look poor Abby is still shaking with fear, we have no idea who this weirdo is, what if he is out to do you some harm?” 

 They all sit quietly for some moments.

 “The thing is,” Romana speaks slowly “I’ve been mixing in, well shall we say, an interesting crowd.  I met a guy some months ago, attractive, sophisticated, older, apparently loaded, and ready to spend it on me.  I saw an opportunity and took it, we were having a ball and I really started to fall for him.  But then I found out more about what he does and of course when I wanted things to cool, he didn’t,” she pauses to sip her tea, no one makes a sound, “he already had claws into my career, had found me an agent, got me interviews, started to shape a possible future in film for me.  Everything I had ever dreamed of.  I only had to mention something and before I knew it, I’d have a new contact, doors opening, the world at my feet.”  She sighs and stares at her hands, unable to look up at them.  “Then I found out he is a notorious criminal, quite by chance I overheard a conversation he was having on his mobile phone with his brief and things I had only half consciously registered before, fell into place.”  Laughing bitterly she shakes her head “I thought he had a shipping business. Turns out he does, shipping drugs, weapons, you name it!”

 “Is that who H is then?”  Abby’s eyes shine with fascination.  “You hinted at him but I had no idea!”

 Romana shifts her legs from beneath her.  “Yes, I’m afraid that is who H is.  Now he haunts me, I can’t make a move without him on my back.”

 “I’ve got to ask, what does H stand for?”  Millicent wonders if she’s met him at any point but can’t think of any of the men Romana has introduced to her having names beginning with this letter.

 “Hunter, Hunter Corbeck.”

 Millicent whistles, not as loudly as her kettle but with as much gusto.  “My ex husband came across him over a property deal some years back, charming but lethal, those are the words he used to describe him.  Goodness me, however did you get involved with a shark like that Romana?”

 “I met him in an exclusive club, apparently he had been keeping tabs on me for a while.  Naturally I became very flattered by his attention, who wouldn’t be?  Showered with flowers, expensive gifts, amazing dates in Paris and Monte Carlo.  Of course deep down I knew it had to be too good to be true but it’s easy to ignore the inner nagging when you are having such a fabulous time.”

 “So you think this weirdo pestering Abby might be somehow connected to Corbeck?”  Millicent drums her fingers on the arm of the sofa, long nails tapping furiously.

 Romana shrugs, moves out her long legs straight in front of her.  “Oh I don’t know, you never know with H.  One minute he’d move the world for you, the next destroy it.  He can be such a psychopath.  I simply knew I’d better lie low when I saw that bloke in the café.  I’d had lots of odd noises on my landline, which made me think I was being bugged, strangers lurking near my apartment, and my mobile phone snatched in the street, that’s why I came to you, to lay low a while.

 Abby drains her cup then cradles it tightly between her fingers. Her eyes flit around the room as she tries to think what to say next.  Millicent of course, has impeccable taste; the room is all soft greys, with sudden splashes of colours strategically placed in the form of an art glass vase, a huge cushion or an abstractly shaped rug.  The place virtually smells of money, indeed expensive perfume lingers on the air.  Modern furniture intermingles with carefully placed antique items.  This is how I want to live one day, she thinks, that would show my father.  She keeps her voice calm and steady as she ventures another question “Are you frightened of H?”

 Romana examines a glittering ring on her left hand, Abby can’t quite see if it is the engagement finger.  Her heart leaps, what if it is? 

 “Yes, yes I am, but I can’t quite convince myself it is him who is out to hurt me.  I mean, why would he?”

 Millicent gives her a sharp look, “why do you say that?  He sounds just the sort to hurt you!”

 Abby sucks in her breath.  Her brain is working over time; she can see the dull blue light of day beginning to filter through Millicent’s Venetian blinds.  “So how much do you know about his dealings, can’t you talk to the police?”

 Romana’s lips spread into a thin humourless smile.  “You don’t get it do you?  This man is incredibly powerful.  If I talk to the police about what little I know, where do you think it would get me?  My career could be stopped by one phone call from him.  And do you know what people like that do to people who talk to the police about them?  My next present from him would be concrete boots to wear to my watery grave!”

 The three of them sit a moment, contemplating this sobering thought. 

 “Listen we should get some sleep.”  Pushing Kumquat off her lap Millicent rises.  “I am exhausted and can’t think straight.  Romana you go back in your room and Abby I’ll get you a blanket, you’ll have to stay here on the sofa.  We’ll be able to think more sensibly when we’ve had some sleep.”

 Abby curls up on the sofa, a soft fleecy blanket pulled up to her neck, her mind spins with all that she has heard.  Patiently she waits for the apartment to become silent, she can still hear Romana and Millicent murmuring in the corridor.  Eventually their voices cease and as Kumquat’s breathing becomes regular with slumber, she imagines they too should by now have fallen asleep. 

 To be sure she waits another twenty minutes.  She hears a newspaper delivery boy throw his bicycle to the ground, shoes tapping on the pavement outside, a bus’s brakes squeal as it draws to a halt at the bus stop further up the road. 

 Slowly, carefully and virtually holding her breath, Abby slips from under the blanket and creeps over to the window, inserting two fingers between the blinds she squints through the opening. It’s a dull day; pin pricks of rain dot the windowpane.  She gently pulls her fingers away making sure the blinds don’t make a noise as they snap together again, tiptoes back to the sofa, puts a hand in her bag and pulls out a notepad and a pencil. 

 Quickly she scribbles a brief note ‘had to go, got lectures today, forgot. Be in touch Abby.’ She pulls out the page and leaves it on the arm of the sofa.

 Down on the street she walks as fast as she can then with a quick glance round she moves into a shop doorway.  The lights in the shop are still out, not yet opening time.  Pulling a mobile phone out of her bag she deftly taps out a text message, presses send and then runs across the road narrowly missing a cyclist who loudly curses her. 

 She passes the Rogues Café and smiles a little, then turns down a side street runs the length of it; turns right and sees Anton’s Range Rover at the curb.  Pausing a second, she glances round again then heads over to the vehicle, pulls open the door and launches herself into it.

 “It worked!  We have one hell of a scoop!”  She turns and nods at JoeHammer sitting in the back “thanks for the address.”

 Anton laughs, “thank me, I gave it to him, and you owe me for that parking ticket Joe.”  He pats her knee “congratulations, you have quite a career ahead of you young lady.”

 “Yes,” says JoeHammer, “welcome to our murky world.”

THE END

Copyright 2011 © Petra Kidd

The Tweet up – Part 5

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“Isn’t it funny?” Says Linette skipping along behind JoeHammer as his long legs power towards the Rogues Café, “how you can be tweeting with someone for months and not have the first clue about them.”

Her high wheedling voice gets on his nerves, along with her inability to make decisions and her cloying need to have contact several times a day. As well as following him on Twitter she has befriended him on Facebook, against his better judgement he accepted. Of course the logical thing to do would be unfriend her but he thinks the impact on her apparently rock bottom self esteem would make things even worse.

Softly he murmurs, “You are right there.” His eyes roll heavenward. Linette sent him a message when she saw his plan to meet MilestoneMilly, idiotically he had not thought to make it a direct message and within seconds the plea for him to pick her up had arrived. He couldn’t get out of it; there wasn’t an excuse he could conjure up in such a short amount of time. They’d parked about a mile away, some event in town meant all street spaces were taken. So he’d listened to the usual moans about her flatmate, her insane theories on the disappearance of Romana and her speculation as to what MilestoneMilly would have to say about it, for a full ten minutes he’d walked faster and faster in the hope she might run out of breath and shut up at some point. He’d failed.

It turned out Linette used to be a cross-country runner who’d been county champion. Her lungs apparently could expand to expel words at a phenomenal rate and at any speed.

Just as they reached the café door, fat splotches of rain began to pelt them. “Well timed us!” Squealed Linette.

Not quite believing Romana isn’t there waiting for them, her shiny black hair swishing back and forth with impatience, Linette scans the tables hoping to see her checking her nails or Blackberry but no, a couple of attractive business women murmured over a laptop in the corner by the bookshelf and an older man with a girl young enough to be his daughter argue quietly near the bar. JoeHammer snaps at Linette “what do you want to drink then?”

Barista boy gives him a sympathetic smirk “not seen your friend in here for a while.”

“Nooo, we’re really worried about her, you mean the gorgeous girl with the long black hair don’t you?” Linette’s eyes widen, ready to bore this new pair of ears with her theories.

“Yup. Thought she probably on holiday or something, or travelling with work, I mean I guess she’s a model or actress int she?”

Linette nods and JoeHammer scowls.

“We really are worried, she’s disappeared off Twitter and Facebook, people only usually do that if they’ve fallen out with people or are being bullied, and we can’t think that has happened. We’re hoping one of our other friends has heard from her or else we don’t know what we’re going to do.” Linette spoke so excitedly JoeHammer begins to wonder if she isn’t in fact thrilled by Romana’s sudden absence, after all it meant Linette had finally gained some attention. This irritates him even more; he grips her elbow and steers her to the table furthest from the bar.

“You don’t have to go telling complete strangers about Romana.” His words come out in a hiss of anger, “she might just be taking some time out from social media, God knows, wish I could.” He takes a deep swig from his glass of dark frothy ale and fixes Linette with a forbidding stare.

The light outside has begun to fade to dusk; being summer it will be quite dark before streetlights light up, people hurry by the café window, huddled under umbrellas or with jackets over their heads. Linette falls silent, hurt by JoeHammer’s remonstration, piqued by his obvious feelings for Romana over hers. In uncomfortable silence they sit, gazing at their drinks, wishing MilestoneMilly didn’t always have to be so late.

Lost in thought, JoeHammer doesn’t notice MilestoneMilly waft in, wearing a crème caramel colour raincoat with a huge fur lined hood. Flicking back the hood to reveal steel colour curls she heads straight to the bar. “Brandy, a double please.” She swivels on her four-inch heels so sharply you would expect a hole to be severed in the floorboards. “Ah there you are!” Her lips stretch to an unfelt smile of greeting, no warmth reaches her eyes. No apology for her lateness of nearly forty minutes. JoeHammer looks up at her then takes another swig of the ale he’s been nursing.

Linette is desperate for another drink but has hardly dared mention this in the atmosphere of quite desperation. “I’m going to get another wine, or do I want beer? Oh I don’t know.” She moves towards the bar ignoring MilestoneMilly’s pained expression.

“Well I haven’t heard a thing.”

Barista boy brings her brandy over, presenting it with a flourish he must have practiced in quieter hours. He lurks for a moment but realises his company is not welcome.

“Nothing.” JoeHammer remains expressionless. “I thought you two were close?”

“Well, as close as you get in the fashion world.” She sips at her brandy and pulls a face of disgust. “Oh boy” she calls out “get me a drinkable brandy will you, not the cheapest poison you have in house.”

JoeHammer can’t help but grin at her unashamed sarcasm. This is a woman used to fancy hotels, fine restaurants and doting staff. Spotty, awkward Barista boy will never cut the mustard.

Barista boy pretends deafness as he takes a food order from the man with the young girl.

Linette returns clutching a large white wine, her bitten nails scratching at the glass. MilestoneMilly regards her with a sigh and turns back to JoeHammer. “She did call me, but my ex husband unexpectedly called in with some work problem, he is terribly demanding and I couldn’t give the poor girl my full attention. She sounded upset but I said I’d call her back and then forgot. Oh my, I feel so guilty darling, you can’t imagine!” Her hand rests fleetingly on JoeHammer’s arm before she waves it in the air at Barista Boy. “Can’t we meet somewhere the brandy tastes like brandy and with proper service?” She shoots a withering look over at the bar. “So, you tried calling her back eventually right?” Linette gulps at her wine.

“Well of course but a couple of days later, I’ve had so much going on you see and the ex kept ringing wanting my opinions all the time, amazing how I still put up with him, we’ve been divorced nearly seven years. I only had her mobile number and it went dead, no dialling tone, nada. I tried texting, tweeting, Blackberry Messenger, the lot, but couldn’t raise her for love nor money. At first I thought she might be in a snot with me but that’s not like Romana, we speak as we find and there’d been no harsh words, no disagreement. I went round to her apartment, rang the bell, nothing, blinds were down, no sign of life.”

JoeHammer stares at MilestoneMilly trying to take in this information. It all seems very strange to him. Linette twists her wine glass at the stem, thinking instead of chattering on for once.

“There is one thing.” MilestoneMilly glances behind her as if someone might be listening. No one is. The businesswomen have left and only the man and girl remain but they are seated and engrossed in their food. “She saw a man here, got all paranoid. Went on about it a bit but didn’t seem to have any real idea of who he was. Recognised him from somewhere but couldn’t put her finger on it. I dismissed it out of my own mind, she often gets a bit paranoid about the press and ages ago she had a stalker who freaked her out for a while but I think he ended up with a restraining order.”

Linette’s eyes shine at this revelation “a stalker? Wow, I’ve heard of people having them, how scary!”

“What about that girl? You know, the new one on Twitter.”

MilestoneMilly and Linette stare at him.

“Oh you mean, @Abbee? Uses the profile picture of a cartoon bee, always asking questions but doesn’t tweet much about herself.” Linette always has a lot to say about her life; spouts endless opinions on the planet, injustices, animals and a never-ending list of other topics so can’t understand this tweeter at all. “How are you supposed to get to know someone when they don’t tell anyone anything?”

“Well she is following all of us and a few others who were following Romana. Not that it means anything, you know how it works; I don’t see how she would have any relevance to Romana disappearing.” JoeHammer glances at his watch, he is supposed to be meeting his girlfriend in half an hour. Maybe Romana had enough of us and couldn’t find an excuse to leave so just went. He looks pointedly at Linette.

MilestoneMilly thinks how much JoeHammer has changed in the last few weeks, when they first met he appeared to be such a mild mannered soul but now he comes across as moody and impatient. Although it is fairly obvious that being around Linette has a very negative affect on him. “At the risk of sounding like a very amateur Miss Marple, I suggest perhaps that we check the last tweets exchanged with Romana, they can’t have all been wiped off, perhaps they might give us a clue as to what may have happened. Other than that we could speak to her neighbours?”

JoeHammer looks uncomfortable. “Oh I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t go prying. Sometimes people choose to disappear, they don’t want to be found.”

“No Joe, that’s opting out of responsibility, Millicent said Romana sounded upset when she called. It gives me a bad feeling and if some bloke has been hanging around watching her that’s even worse! I’ve gone all cold thinking about it. You’re right Millicent we should all we can to find her and then if she doesn’t want to know us, then we’ll leave her alone.”

Barista boy wanders over to the table, MilestoneMilly coolly looks away from him, then her face changes and her chin jolts up in his direction. “You know your customers right?”

Taken aback by her rattled tone he fingers his lip nervously. “Uh huh.”

“A few weeks ago a man came in a suit, when our little group were here having a few drinks. Do you remember him?”

Barista boy rolls his eyes around the ceiling as if he might find the answer in flaky bits of paint. “Erm, nah, don’t think so.”

“Think boy think hard.” “Yeah well, there was this bloke who came back the day after and sat in the corner a while on his mobile phone. Made an Expresso last for an hour. Really annoying people like that.”

MilestoneMilly exchanges a look with Linette “so that must have been the Wednesday?”

JoeHammer sighs, “I’ve got to be going. You carry on your interrogation; let me know how you get on. Catch you laters.” His chair scrapes noisily; he waves a hand at them and leaves.

The early night air is damp but the rain has stopped. Cars tear through puddles splashing water his way as he walks quickly back towards the car park. He glances at his phone to check the time, it’s after eight, and he’s going to be late. Should he bother with a text or chance that she will be late too? She often is.

Every now and then he glances behind him and then across the street. He passes groups of teenagers, an elderly couple hand in hand, several singular young men, one pushing a bike, another staring at his phone nearly walks straight into him. “Watch it.” He growls.

Eventually he reaches the multi storey car park, the lights are dim and drips fall though cracks in the concrete. Opting for the stairs rather than the lift, he passes no one. The faint smell of half eaten chips lying in a corner reaches his nostrils, making him nauseous. His car is on the fourth level, row C, on one side there is still a parking space but on the other a granite grey Range Rover is parked, slightly at an angle. JoeHammer pauses a moment then strides round to the boot, opens it and drops his jacket in.

He can’t see if anyone is in the Range Rover, this makes him feel exposed. He admonishes himself for feeling spooked but nevertheless climbs in behind the wheel quickly and relocks all the doors. Turning on the ignition he looks up to check the way is clear to pull out and sees an envelope beneath the wiper. At first he dismisses it as some sort of advertising leaflet and starts to pull out thinking it will drop off with movement but on closer examination it obviously isn’t. He drives to the end of the aisle, stops, opens his door enough to get his arm out and reaches round to grab the envelope.

With a flick of the wrist the envelope lands on the passenger seat, he’ll open it later. He looks up to his rear view mirror to see the Range Rover lights are on; it is pulling out behind him. His heart beats faster, telling himself not to panic he pulls away jumpily; the car is still in second gear.

It doesn’t take long to reach the exit barrier; it is not until this moment JoeHammer remembers he forgot to pay the parking fee.

The Tweet Up – Part Six

Copyright 2011 © Petra Kidd

The Tweet Up – Part four

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A month later Abby is back at the Rogues Café.  She is sitting at a table near the front window with a laptop on the table in front of her.  Her hair is cropped to a pixie style cut; square shape glasses sit on her perfectly straight nose.  Her attire no longer screams ‘hard-up student’, to the contrary, she is wearing a cream satin boat necked top, navy drainpipe cotton trousers and soft leather ballet pumps in navy with cream bows.  No sign of the puppy fat at her middle from beer drinking student jaunts.  She is a streamlined Abby with a cool new look.

 There are five other people in the café, a young couple sitting two tables across from her with their index fingers entwined, giggling shyly from time to time.  They only have eyes for each other.  A man wearing a striped blazer leans at the bar, murmuring to the barista who is the same spotty youth from a month ago.  A woman in the corner whose bob cut hair has pink streaks in the fringe is reading a hefty novel with black and white figures on the cover.  Over near a large pot plant sits a middle aged man, he is quite thin, his eyes are hooded, they look world weary, he is scribbling on a notepad and keeps reaching into his briefcase to retrieve various papers. 

 Abby ignores them all.  Her attention is on the screen in front of her.  The Twitter timeline a conveyor belt of observations, interchanges, jokes, pictures and shared thoughts and actions moves before her, a never-ending stream of information.  She is waiting for a DM, a direct message from Romana Blaze.  It should have been there by now; she has been waiting for over half an hour, the two lattes she sipped through are now making her heart beat loudly in her chest, caffeine or nerves, hard to tell, probably both.

 She stares at her new smart phone for a moment, no messages.  Well perhaps all the work over the past few weeks has not paid off after all.  She sighs and stares out at shoppers ambling along laden with shiny bags from local boutiques, or more commonly supermarket express stores.  If she can pull this off, who knows where it might lead?  If only she had known whom she had been staring at a month ago, she could have perhaps cut through weeks of trying to forge a Twitter relationship with the elusive Romana.  Her own fault for not being like countless other young women who feast on celebrity magazines; hanging out with the likes of Jane, Keiron and Duff had left her striving to be a serious intellectual type, deriding anything popular.  By trying not to be one kind of sheep, she had become another. 

 She wonders whether to call Anton and ask him what to do.  For the past few weeks Abby has relied heavily on Anton, clung to his every word.  He’d apologised profusely for freaking her out by arriving at her flat before she did.  Begged her forgiveness for stalking her at uni to find out where she lived.  “I knew you used the Rogues Café sometimes, it was a dream come true when you happened to be there at the same time of Romana’s tweetup.” 

 Anton had chased her because he wanted her to go back to the café to carry on eavesdropping.  ‘She sort of knows me, but can’t place me.  I can’t approach her.’ He said full of apologetic gestations and smiles.  Oh his smile.

 ‘But why me?”  Abby asked him.  They’d walked across the estate to another café, a greasy spoon run by a kindly woman with the features of a Rottweiller. 

 Anton chose his words like he probably chose his suits, carefully picking out the ones that would make him look good. 

 ‘I wanted someone who wouldn’t necessarily be that in awe of Romana Blaze.’

 ‘Well you failed there, I felt tongue tied from the moment I saw her!’  Abby frowned at him ‘even though I didn’t really know who she is.’

 Anton laughed wryly, ‘yes, she is quite something isn’t she?’

 Rottweiller woman eyed him anxiously, Abby knew the woman felt nervous in case he might be Inland Revenue or a benefits investigator.  Anyone in a suit meant trouble around here.  She tried to smile reassuringly but got a brown-eyed look of doom. 

 Anton fixed Abby with a serious stare. “Look I work for a celebrity online magazine, we’re trying to take a new approach to getting our stories.  I just can’t seem to get near that woman without making her think I’m out to dish the dirt on her.  I’m not, honestly. Her agent won’t return my calls; I’ve tried explaining on the answer phone but let’s face it that’s not the best form of communication, you wouldn’t believe the trouble I had getting the number.  I can’t blame her for not talking to the press but we want to put her side of the story.’  He paused and took a sip of anaemic tea. 

 ‘So you want me to do your dirty work?’  Abby sat back in her chair fingering a pigtailed plait. 

 Anton chuckled ‘no, it’s not dirty work Abby, honestly it’s not, and I’ll make sure you get paid.  It’s not a huge amount of money, but it could mean a good little job for you if you can pull off this interview.  I’ve sort of headhunted you to replace me.  Be flattered!’

 ‘Replace you?’

 ‘Oh yes, I’ve been offered the editor’s job.  I used to go to your uni, that’s why I decided to choose someone from there.  It’s got a great media course, I know you aren’t on it but I didn’t want someone that savvy.  I think Romana might be more open with someone like you.’  Anton looked over at Rottweiller woman. ‘I think we better leave, looks like closing time.’

 They walked back across the estate, past ragamuffin boys playing football in holey t-shirts and hand me down trainers.  Older looking girls who were no doubt the same age looked on, some with cigarettes between their talon-topped fingers.  A flash of the future hit Abby, jobs weren’t guaranteed these days, the TV news continued to give stark warnings of unemployment figures, people losing pensions, lack of opportunity for the young.  Abby imagined her life on this estate, perhaps things wouldn’t change; she might graduate but then have no guarantee of employment.  Her father would be mortified if she didn’t make him proud by landing a ‘top notch job with all of the benefits.’  Especially after his continual reminders of the ‘sacrifices’ he had made.   

 Anton continued to talk ‘the thing is Abby; you will have to change your look a bit.  I don’t think Romana will see that she has anything in common with a student but if you look a bit more, well chic shall we say?  Well then she might take an interest.’

 Abby stared up at him, ‘do you know what I have to survive on?’

 He smiled, ‘Course I do, I was a student once too y’know.  Here’s a hundred quid, it’s my own money.  Go kit yourself out and lose the plaits, you need to look more sophisticated.’

 ‘Oh I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it.’  Abby felt a little peeved at his sudden criticism of her hairstyle.

 Anton touched her shoulder, ‘that’s ok, it’s up to you.’  He delved into the inner chest pocket of his jacket, ‘here’s my card, contact me how you want but I need to know by tomorrow.’  He walked her to the tower block entrance.  ‘Not a word to anyone Abby, whichever way you decide.’

 In truth it wasn’t hard for Abby to make up her mind.  Independence from her all controlling father beckoned and to tell the truth she felt drawn to Anton, he had an appealing manner, straight clean teeth and wore aftershave.  Just those three things alone were enough to make her respond to his bidding.  Student boys were hardly the most alluring of creatures.  Seduction usually involved a four pack of Stella and shared chips, if you were lucky, they used a toothbrush or soap and you could consider it a bonus.

 One restless night later, Abby borrowed Duff’s mobile and called Anton.  “Ok, I’ll do it.”  Four simple words left on his voice mail, a bigger commitment than she could know.

 As Abby is about to give up hope, Romana steps through the café door, her eyes dart the room in a multi second search then rest on Abby with an intrigued glint of recognition.  “Wow, look at you!” 

 Barista boy is at the table in moments.  Abby takes stock of the fact that everyone else has to go to the bar to attract his attention but Romana has it on entry. 

 “You are the same girl who was here when we were at the tweetup?”

 “Oh yes,” shyness overtakes Abby like a hair blanket, embarrassment makes her skin itch, “I er, decided it was time for a makeover.” 

“Well lady, you sure got made over, well done you!”  Romana orders a vodka and gestures to Abby “come girl, you are all grown up now, take a little lifter with me.”  She smiles with delight, “you look so much better Abby, who did your hair?”

 As much as Abby would like to say someone Romana would have respect for, she can’t “oh some place I’ve always gone to, cheap and cheerful.” 

 “Well thank God you got yourself on Twitter, it’s such fun isn’t it?  I’ve had loads of fun meeting people though that Linette girl is a bit hard to shake off, very intense you know.  I think Joe is coming over in a bit.”

 “JoeHammer?”

 “Yes, and Millicent of course.  She is such a great friend, and a kind of a mentor to me.”

 “Mentor?”

 “Oh yes, we’ve known each other since my teens.  Millicent taught me drama at school, convinced me I could do great things.  Well I can’t say I’ve done anything great yet, but there is always hope.  Twitter gives me the chance to meet normal every day people, all the luvvies can get a bit much you know.”  Romana pauses to accept her vodka, barely acknowledging barista boy.  “I’m an ordinary girl at heart, I want to keep a foot in both worlds though I have to be careful now.”

 “Careful?”

 “Well of course, get your face in a few publications and a bit of airtime on certain channels and weirdo’s crawl out of the woodwork at every which way.  Don’t even get me started on the press.”

 “But people must recognise you?”

 “Not as much as you might think.  I keep it cool on the whole, if you don’t attract attention you can get away with walking about quite normally on the whole.  It’s only at industry events all the craziness starts.”  Romana fingers her expensive sunglasses and eyes Abby’s laptop.  “You working on studenty stuff then?”

 Abby lowers the screen.  “Kind of.”

 Keep your information to a minimum.  Abby can hear Anton’s words in her ear.  Lately he has been impatient to know when she will meet Romana.  It isn’t easy to develop a Twitter relationship in just a few weeks, especially when you are trying to build a false profile. 

 Keep it real.  Anton liked to say this, a lot.  He’d taken her out a couple of times to very nice restaurants, complimented her on her new look, acted the perfect gentleman.  Abby felt special in his company, and later, when she curled up in sheets smelling of mould, fantasised that he might kiss her one day, sooner than later she hoped.  Though she guessed that wouldn’t be professional. 

 Romana drank her vodka quite quickly. “Excuse me hun.”  She checked her phone.  “Joe’s on his way but Millicent won’t be here until two.  She’s amazing that lady, always networking, a never-ending source of gossip and information.  Protects me too, against the media sharks.”

 Abby notes that no one in the café appears to recognise Romana.  She looked her up on the Internet, she isn’t exactly A list, and even struggling to reach B list but it became apparent through various searches those lists were very much within her sights.    A few more people have entered the café and are ordering lunch.  The woman with the pink streaked fringe has a big bowl of soup in front of her and keeps accidentally dripping soup from her spoon on to her chin so absorbed is she in her novel.  Abby appreciates she doesn’t have much time before the others arrive.

 “So you have been having a little difficulty in your relationship?”  Abby hopes this doesn’t sound too forward, after all they hardly know each other really, despite having exchanged approximately seventy or so Twitter messages over the course of the last few weeks. 

 Romana smiles a bitter little smile and her eyes harden.  “Success has its pitfalls of course.  There are those whose egos get knocked when I get all the attention.”

 “You mean ‘H’?”

 Romana gives a sharp shrug.  “Who else?”

 “So who is H?”

 “Can’t say.  It would be saying too much and to be fair hun, I don’t know you, do I?  For all I know you could be a ragster.”

 “A ragster.”

 “Someone from the gutter press.”

Abby nods and shifts in her seat.  Anton warned her not to go in too fast. “I’m ready for another drink, are you?”  She hopes she doesn’t sound nervous.

 Romana’s face softens a little. “Sorry, I’m just a bit paranoid, you understand?  Last time we were here, there was this bloke, in a suit.  I knew him from somewhere but couldn’t quite think.  It’s still niggling me.  Did you notice him?” 

 It is Abby’s turn to shrug “he took the paper I think.  I wanted it to fill in the crossword but he got there first.”  Lying feels bad but money makes it better, Abby looks at her empty glass as she imparts the fib.  It has been good having money; Anton is generous with money and compliments.  For the first time in her short life, Abby has felt special.  She doesn’t want it to stop.  “Who do you think he was?”

 Romana twists the chunky bangle on her wrist, “I really don’t know.  I’ve had bad experiences in the past.  Still, I haven’t seen him since so probably I’m just being over sensitive.  Let’s get the drinks in.”

 Later when Abby rings Anton, her voice wavers “Romana is very alert, it’ll take longer than we thought.”

 Anton’s response is curt “don’t disappoint me Abby, we don’t have long.”

The Tweet Up – Part Five

Copyright 2011 © Petra Kidd

The Tweet Up – Part Three

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An hour and a half has passed. Several more people have arrived in the café, a large lady in creased linen squints at the lunch menu scrawled across a blackboard at the side of the bar, her companion, an elderly man with a bulbous belly and eyes to match grunts, impatient at her dithering. A few office workers also gather by the blackboard, they mutter about spreadsheets and Phoebe from accounts.

Abby finishes her last drop of lager and realises she must visit the toilet before making her escape. The tweet up group is huddled over Romana’s phone, apparently trying to contact another tweeter. As she pushes past them her rucksack nudges JoeHammer’s shoulder, he glances at her for less than a second and she experiences a pang of disappointment he doesn’t offer more interest or even a smile.

The Rogues Café toilets like the rest of the café are decorated with sketches of great rogues through the ages including highwaymen, thieves, smugglers and pirates. Abby pauses by a picture of Charlie Peace, ‘a notorious Victorian thief who carried the tools of his trade around in a violin case’ or so the inscription says at the foot of the picture. She thinks he looks like an ordinary man, aside from his rather oddly shaped skull, then remembers Sheldon from her sociology course who thought mesomorphs were most likely to commit crimes owing to their athletic body shape. She is studying the picture closely to see if Charlie might fit the mesomorph description when the door swings open and Millicent arrives, breathless and agitated.

“Oh sorry my dear; didn’t mean to startle you!” Millicent glances in the oversize oval mirror above the washbasin then pushes her way into a cubicle.

Abby hurries into the only other cubicle.  Just as she sits down, she hears the door swing open again and a throaty voice calls out ‘Millicent?’

“Yes darling Romana, just having a pee!”

Romana’s voice is urgent and low. Abby hardly dare breathe in case she misses a word. “It’s that man, the one in the suit. I’ve seen him before, I think he might be following me.”

Millicent drops the toilet roll; it rolls under the partition in Abby’s direction. Abby rolls it back without so much as a murmur.

“I just know him from somewhere and I don’t think it’s in a good way.” Her words slur a little and Abby is reminded of how much wine Romana must have imbibed by now. She immediately realises whom Romana is referring to, the man who smiled at her. Her heart skips a beat.

Millicent flushes the toilet and emerges from the cubicle. “And could it be your imagination Romana? Could it?”

Abby hears Romana sigh impatiently. “No!” The taps are turned on, Abby strains to hear the next sentence as water spews forth, the pipes gurgling loudly with effort. “You know what they’re like, can’t leave me alone, I’ve had to change my number three times.”

The hand drier blasts hot air noisily drowning out words Abby is eager to hear. She flushes and hopes this won’t deter them carrying on the conversation. However, when she emerges from the cubicle, they are gone.

Well, this is turning out to be an interesting day Abby tells herself as she squirts white liquid soap into her palms. Perhaps the man is a private investigator or a stalker, but Romana said ‘they, you know what they’re like.’ Abby, previously eager to leave the café, embarrassed by being alone, now wants to find out more. Perhaps she could pick up one of the dusty tomes on the windowsill and pretend interest, she still has enough coins for her bus fare if she decides to buy another lager.

No, she really ought to get back to the flat. Idly whiling away time in a café when she should be studying King Lear is not something her grim faced father would approve of. He’d given her hard earned money to pursue her degree, an opportunity he’d never had himself, unfortunately he never let an occasion slip by to remind her of this. He could have spent the money on golfing holidays, a conservatory or a round the world trip but no, he would invest in her future, a selfless and noble act. Without a mother to defend the fripperies of youth, Abby finds herself wearily listening to his lectures whenever she calls home or during the tri-monthly expected visit. Of course, he is right, what value did a curiosity in the lives of strangers have for any future career, but then, the same perhaps could be said of King Lear? She dries her hands, bounces back down the stairs and straight out of the Rogues Café without another glance toward the tweet up group in case she is tempted to find a way to stay.

The bus stop is approximately 700 yards away from the café. As Abby weaves her way down the street through people flowing steadily in an opposing stream to her, she ponders the man, the way he smiled at her, directly and without embarrassment, she wonders who Romana might be that she attracts such interest and what connection she has with the older woman. They obviously know each other from before the meet up today. How frustrating not to know what will happen next, if anything. Abby heard Twitter mentioned several times during the group’s conversation. Her best female friend has tried it but claimed boredom with the ‘inane tweets of egotistical flotsam.’ That’s exactly how she described it, so Abby had dismissed it too, she is very aware of Jane Asham-Brown’s own ego which is no doubt what led her to Twitter herself, and also very conscious of the fact Jane has little patience with anything that isn’t deeply meaningful, poetic or literary. That’s why Abby likes her so much; Jane behaves as though she landed in 2011 from another era entirely, 1920’s perhaps. It is impossible to discuss many modern day matters with her but fun to embroil in literary argument over stale buns in the Uni canteen.

Abby reaches the bus stop wondering if it is worth mentioning the intrigue at the Rogues Café. Jane will no doubt admonish her for being so forward as to sit alone in a public establishment. Ridiculous!

There are three people at the bus stop; a petite lady carrying a basket full of fruit and exotic looking vegetables, her hair in a top knot and her feet in spindly heels, a teenage youth, his face half covered by a hacked through fringe and a man squeezed into a wheelchair who is completely absorbed in a Frederick Forsyth novel.

Abby perches on one of the bus shelter seats which are always too small to give any kind of comfort and contemplates joining Twitter to see if she can find Romana, Millicent, JoeHammer or the other girl who she overheard as LibertySwan. Duff, the comic book hero with ringlets could help, as technology isn’t her thing. Yes that is what she will do.

Abby looks up as she hears the bus approach, coughing out black smoke at its rear end and grimy with city filth. The man in the wheelchair is helped on by the irritable driver who sighs theatrically as he heaves him out of the chair and into the nearest seat, which has been rapidly vacated by a pregnant woman. The chair is stiff to fold and the bus driver slaps ineffectively at the handles in an effort to make it obey his will. Unexpectedly the teenage fringe steps forward, twists the handle, deftly flicks the foot rests, and hey presto the wheelchair obediently flattens. ‘Same as me Gran’s’ he mutters giving the driver a pitying smile.

It is hard not to laugh at the bus driver’s incredulity. Abby covers her mouth with her hand. The bus driver returns to his seat even more irritable, and in sulky silence scoops up change while flicking the machine to spew out tickets. Before the spindly-heeled woman can get to her seat the bus starts to move leaving her to sway awkwardly, buffeted by her basket.

Abby turns to the window on impulse and sees the suited man from the café just reach the bus stop, he is waving frantically at her, but it is too late. She sits back in her seat, agitated and confused, what did he want with her? Searching her memory she can’t think she has ever seen or met him before, he is definitely not a lecturer or student, certainly not a friend of Duff or Kieron, the boring bearded wonder. If he is following Romana, how can there be any connection with her as well? Fear makes her breathe loudly and an elderly lady in the seat behind her puts a hand on her shoulder “you all right dear?”

“Oh yes, er thank you.” Abby twists her shoulders round to smile reassurance at the lady but it is an uncertain smile.

“I thought you might be asthmatic or something, my youngest son is.” Her brow is furrowed into arrow shape lines of worry. Abby wonders whether to explain but knows it might take too much effort so tries to calm her breathing instead. Usually she only experiences such anxiety attacks before exams. She begins to think the man might work out which bus stop is next and try to get there, but why does she feel scared or nervous? His face wasn’t unfriendly as he waved his arm at her. Probably it is because Romana sounded so anxious in the toilets, the word stalker hasn’t been used but it comes to her now conjuring up the image of someone dangerous and unhinged, in pursuit, in need of something.

Five stops later, Abby clambers off the bus with unfelt muttered thanks to the driver who has driven like an idiot most of the way, adding to Abby’s unsettled feelings. She hurries along the street continually looking behind her, just in case the man appears again, even though she knows this is not likely, unless he had a car and followed the bus. Shallow breaths come again at this thought and she peers round at cars speeding along the suburban roadway beside her.

No, she must calm herself down. This is daft.

Abby rushes through terrace lined streets eager to reach her temporary home, a spacious shared flat on the sixth floor of a ten storey tower block, hopeful that Duff will be there, writing his essay, eating crisps and muttering about deadlines.

As she approaches the tower block she pulls her rucksack off her shoulders, unzips a pocket and fingers her keys, then looks over at the entranceway hearing squeals and cries, a young woman struggling with a pushchair and shouting at her three children of various heights, waves a weary hand in greeting. Poor Charlene, thinks Abby as she does every time she sees her, she knows her well by sight and occasionally they exchange moans about their respective landlords.

Running up stairs to double doors, decorated with pointless squirts of graffiti paint she debates for a second whether to take the stairway or the lift. Either way the smell of urine or bleach will not be avoided. A figure hovers by the lift and she hopes it isn’t the old man who always asks her for a kiss.

It isn’t. It is the suited man.

The Tweet Up – Part Four

Copyright 2011 © Petra Kidd

The Tweet Up – Part Two

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Abby sits intrigued watching four strangers get drunk together.  The atmosphere has changed perceivably in the last hour.  She leans forward, face in hands wishing now she could join them.  Earlier awkwardness permeated the air; this has changed to alcohol- fuelled joviality.  The last to join the group, a young man wearing a worn leather jacket, washed out jeans and a wonky smile seemed barely able to greet the others at first, he appeared so shy, Abby noticed his hands were shaking and felt sorry for him.  But now, two bottles of lager later his palm keeps finding its way onto the knee of the woman in the slinky white top.   Abby sighs, his initial introversion gave her hope he might be more discerning than to hit on a girl so quickly.  She tries to convince herself it is part of a friendly tactile nature, not necessarily definite flirtation. 

 Millicent can’t seem to keep her fingertips from fiddling with Linette’s gelled spikes, her fingers apparently have a life of their own, prodding and stroking, flicking and teasing, as Millicent talks non-stop.   Linette seems amused and pleased by the attention, she moves her head from side to side as if encouraging it.  They are talking about other tweeters they know, endless names are dropped TitanAnnie, HellyLump, JimJamJon, KirstyCake, WordyGordy, the stilted words of greeting have been replaced by animated conversation, a waterfall of gushing words.  “Oh yes, I know him!”  MilestoneMilly sniggers, “we were tweeting until past 2am the other night, he is passionate about politics and we argue on every point but it really is such fun, bit smutty at times too!”

 Linette roars with laughter, any previous nerves or concerns about this unlikely tweeter seem to have vanished as quickly as the wine in her glass  “oh yes, I met him at Green conference, he never shuts up, a bit extreme I reckon, I thought he might twist my arm behind my back until I agreed with every word he said!”  Her slight northern accent rolls along at odds with Millicent’s nasal cut-glass enunciations, opposite ends of an imaginary scale but somehow joining in conspiratorial harmony.  “We’ll have to get him out some time, get a few bevies into him and find out how he really ticks!”  Linette snorts at the thought, shoulders shaking with giggles at the idea.  “Imagine how smutty he might get then!”

 Abby’s companions are ready to go, the Beard stands up, indicates the time by nodding at a clock over by the bar and gathers up the comic books they have been engrossed in for the last couple of hours.  The lad with ringlets scrapes his chair back noisily and looks pleadingly at Abby.  Abby doesn’t want to leave, she wants to hear more but she is not sure she can sit there alone, she doesn’t have the kind of aloof confidence a young woman needs to remain on her own at a table in a café bar.  Perhaps if she had a newspaper as a prop she could, she looks over at a rack by the door and considers this as an option.  The Beard doesn’t have enough patience to wait for her; he is already over by the door.

“I want to stay here a bit longer” Abby tells Ringlets but can hardly say why, someone might hear.  It is nosy to carry on eavesdropping on the tweet up group but at the same time irresistible enough to lean back in her chair in a stubborn pose, arms folded, brow creased, eyes determinedly fixed on his.  She wants to know what will happen next.  If she has to leave now, she will never find out. 

 Ringlets seems unsure what to do, he doesn’t want to stay, he has an essay to write and the Beard has challenged him to a game of pool later, so his time, in his head is neatly arranged.  Abby’s spanner has metaphorically been thrown in his works.  He likes Abby and doesn’t want to upset her.  So his next words are uttered with a slight whine “oh Abby, we can’t stay here all afternoon.” 

 Romana looks up, her radar can detect conflict at one hundred paces; she can see the girl doesn’t want to leave, JoeHammer continues to talk but now she isn’t listening.  She noticed the girl earlier, or rather she noticed her boredom, she can see she is quite young, her hairstyle doesn’t add maturity, corn colour plaits arranged in pigtails, wide eyes with just a touch of badly applied mascara, clothes a little too large, they could be hand me downs.  A rucksack with frayed straps, walker style sandals and cheap drinks, this girl and the others had to be students, little money and making the drinks last as long as they could.  She couldn’t help but notice curious glances directed her way from the moment she entered the café.  It had been somewhat irritating to begin with, but when the others had arrived, Romana felt like she had become part of a show, entertainment for this inexperienced youth obviously fascinated by Romana’s own sophistication and intrigued by her companions.  They could be in a television show, a fun little sitcom.  Romana couldn’t help but be amused by the girl’s sulky frown every time Joe touched her knee, 

 Now Romana watches, fascinated to see if the girl will be brave enough to stay on her own.

 Abby asks Ringlets to pass her a paper.  “You’re staying here?  On your own?”  His voice is a mix of concern, incredulity and annoyance.  “It’s erm, not a great idea..”

 “Yeah, why not?  I don’t have an essay to write, or pool to play, why can’t I?  She sounds convincing enough and Ringlets leans his head to one side as if to contemplate the situation. “Well if you’re sure?”  He doesn’t want to stay, he doesn’t want to leave her there, but he can’t think of a strong enough argument to get her to go with him.  Romana suspects the girl usually follows him around like a faithful puppy; her sudden resistance is obviously a bit of a surprise to him.

 Abby nods “lend me a tenner.”  A screwed up note lands on the table before her, a fiver, Ringlets is off.  A few moments later, Romana watches him pause outside the café window to check if his friend, girlfriend?  Is serious in her intent to stay.  She is.

 JoeHammer has grown tired of Romana’s inattention, he decides it is rude and he returns to the bar to get more drinks.  Abby joins him, uncertain and small like a lost child at grown ups’ party.  Romana turns to Millicent and whispers to her, it is a stage whisper so Linette can hear too.  Abby just catches ‘the girl’ as she turns her head waiting for Joe to make his order.  She suddenly feels silly and very alone, and wishes she had left with the others, but it is too late now, everyone there seems to be aware of the commitment she has made to stay.

Deciding the cheapest drink is probably a bottle of weak lager; Abby refuses a glass and returns to her table.  She sits for a moment contemplating the label and then remembers the newspaper, up she gets again, knocks the table with her hip and the bottle smacks noisily down onto the hardwood surface.  Her hand is out to pull it up again before much can be spilt, just a couple of fizzy globules fly out before it is once again vertical.  Thinking it would be best not to look around to see if anyone in the group has noticed her clumsiness, she moves towards the rack, as she does, a man in a dark suit carrying a briefcase strides in and before she can reach out, leans across in front of her, grabs a newspaper from under her nose and shoves under his elbow.  It is the only newspaper left.

 Romana watches all this with amusement.  She is enjoying the gaucheness of the girl, and can’t resist watching to see how she takes this.  Abby turns on her heel, eyes downcast as if she believes by not looking up, no one will have noticed.   Her face burns red as she sits once more, alone with her bottle of lager.

 Millicent leans over to Romana, “funny girl, I hated being that age, couldn’t say boo to a goose, can’t think why she wanted to stay there on her own when her friends left.”

 “I think they were boring her with their comics.  Such boys, ridiculous haircuts and awful clothes!  I would invite her over but I think it might embarrass her all the more.”  Besides, Romana really can’t face it, whatever would they talk about if the girl wasn’t on Twitter?

 Abby sits, uncomfortable in the knowledge they are talking about her.  She glances over at the man in the suit; who is leaning over the paper, studying it carefully through tinted square glasses.  How old might he be? Thirtyish, maybe older, grey specks glisten in his sharply razored hair. He headed for a table by the front window after securing the paper, as if he always sat there, no hesitation or uncertain survey of the room to assess the best seat.  Without looking over, she convinces herself the girl in the white top will be checking him out, appraising his smartness, considering his wealth.  It’s just the impression she has of her, the kind of woman who could have any man she desired, the kind of woman who would only be interested in a man of substantial means.

 The group are discussing how Twitter has benefited them on a personal basis.  Each on their third or fourth drink, they are getting louder, less discreet with information about their private lives.  JoeHammer mentions a girl he met through tweeting, invited her out on a date only to have three other men turn up too.  They all howl with laughter, Millicent’s laugh is throaty, the deepest, Romana puts her hand over her mouth to stifle her shrieks, Linette’s is shrill and JoeHammer’s is a loud staccato, stopping and starting as if fighting for breath.   

 The curiosity Abby felt earlier has turned to a strong desire to leave; she swallows lager in gulps, cold glass hitting her teeth with a clonk.  No longer does she want to find out more about the people in this drunken group, escape is on her mind.  It isn’t easy to drink fast, and she is sure the girl in the white top, Roma or something, she half caught her name must be watching her every move through the corner of her eye, waiting for her to trip again or perform some foolish faux pas.   Not wanting to waste the drink, she considers taking it with her, but this wouldn’t look right and she could hardly walk down the street swigging from a bottle.  What would people think?

 The man by the window looks up, as if disturbed by her thoughts, he smiles, a quite dazzling smile at her.  Abby looks behind her, thinking the girl in the white top must somehow have moved places, surely it would be her this man would be smiling at but no, his full attention is on Abby.

The Tweet Up – Part Three

Copyright 2011 © Petra Kidd

A very social addiction..

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I ask for Co-Codamol and the pharmacy assistant tells me that I must only take it for three days because this is an addictive drug.  They have no worries about the drug; it is social media I am addicted to. 

 Well am I?

 Other than my family and friends, I can list my loves in life, when do they count as addictions?

 I love social media, Haruki Murakami novels, red wine, sleep and beautiful Norfolk sunrises, oh and fabulous Norfolk beaches and chilling with my market trader mates, and running with my Twitter pals.  Ah no, wait, loves in life and actual addictions are strikingly different, without a doubt.

 So what can’t I actually live without?  What makes me function on a daily basis?

 In the past year I have forged friendships I didn’t know I needed and rediscovered something I had put on the backburner until the day all the everyday tasks left time for, i.e. writing.  These things all make me function, happily, and they have, in part come from social media.

 Writing and social media are intrinsically linked.  To participate in social media I have to write, by interacting with others I have rediscovered my writing skills.  My love of writing has, in a way, sneaked in by the back door and re-awakened the desire and now I can’t get through a day without giving something up to the world in the written word, whether it is 140 characters or more. 

 I reached a point recently where I knew I needed some kind of change in my life.  Inter-planetary activity could have been responsible but who knows?  The past five years have been spent worrying myself sick about others and suddenly in 2011 I woke up and realised, if I don’t get on with what I want to do, I will be old, blind and addicted to red wine and won’t have achieved what I used to dream of. 

This morning I watched BBC Breakfast as I er, ate my breakfast.  I got annoyed because they had a discussion on technology and family life.  As usual it presented itself as a ‘how social media and smart phone technology are damaging family life and human interaction,’ piece and instead of pointing out the positives, went all out on the negatives.

 No, no and no again, you are missing the point.  Social media of course has negatives and yes families should sit round a dinner table and interact in many different ways, people should be able to communicate face to face without viewing their mobile every few seconds and be able to chat without the need for checking text messages or Facebook or Twitter.

 BUT, take a look at the social media success stories that must far outweigh the negatives, charities have raised millions if not billions of pounds, dollars, euros through social media, business acquaintances have been forged, it is a marketing dream, music has been created, isolated self-employed people have found like-minded souls, events have unfolded live and raw without censorship or journalistic interpretation. The truth has been reported, lives have been saved, dreams have been realised and so on it goes. 

No, it’s not all about what we had for breakfast!

 If I have an addiction let it be social media, it is really my only one and to my mind it is actually healthy!

Tweet on…