I attempted to sleep, but instead tossed and turned. I was on the mystery trail and no closer to sleeping. My mind spun round and round, thoughts rotating like in a tumble dryer. Those days and weeks before she passed, she shared her story—but not this. When I asked why it all happened, she went silent.Read more "Out of the Chocolate Box (46a)"
At seven in the evening, I scampered down to the kitchen and attempted to scrounge some scraps from the kitchen hand; some weedy adolescent wearing a hooded windcheater. What was he hiding? Pimples? He kept mumbling, ‘You’re too late, Miss’.
In the end, I mumbled in reply, ‘This retreat is not a retreat, it’s more like a boarding school or even a concentration camp’.
Günter stared down at the plain and sea below, his mouth agape.
‘Could you navigate?’ I had been waiting to ask that question for weeks. ‘I’ll let you do the return trip, promise.’
As we rumbled and tumbled out of the valley and over the savannah, Günter flicked through the diminished and faded tape collection. On this state-of-the-art flying-space car, how quaint to have cassette tapes!
‘What is Billy Connolly?’ he asked.
Günter ejected Dire Straits and inserted Billy Connolly.
A flood of swear words filled the cabin.
Günter stood back and watched. ‘So, where’s the key?’
‘Erm, I remember John, Minna’s brother…’
I groped under the rim of the front left tyre.
Gunter rolled his eyes. ‘I know who John is.’
‘Well, he…’ I ran my fingers over the rough and greasy underside edge of the car body.
‘Oh, this is wonderful!’ I gasped for the tenth time, then burst into song: ‘The hills are alive with the sound of music…’
‘Would you be quiet!’ Günter stormed off and raced ahead.
I hit the sand, head first, then picked myself up and dusted the fine grains from my visor.
Günter leaned against the wall of the cave and gazed out at the light shining through the entrance. ‘You your time took.’