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    Brief Encounters
    Brief Encounters
    Brief Encounters
    Ebook135 pages1 hour

    Brief Encounters

    By Edna Taylor

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    About this ebook

    Edna Taylor’s second book of short stories is about a scarecrow, a dog and a cat, a UFO and dreams. Brief encounters and an anonymous gift, plus strange happenings which can turn one’s life onto unexpected pathways and into a completely new direction. Which only goes to prove that ordinary can turn into extraordinary in the blink of

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGinninderra Press
    Release dateSep 7, 2015
    ISBN9781760410254
    Brief Encounters

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      Book preview

      Brief Encounters - Edna Taylor

      A Feast

      ‘If music be the food of love, play on.’ The old saying suddenly popped unbidden into Sadie Perkin’s head. She didn’t know where she had heard it before but it seemed to fit the moment.

      She was hiding behind the curtain in front of the side door leading into the theatre. She wasn’t supposed to be there. Sadie was employed by a firm of cleaners who tidied up the theatre after the show had finished and the audience had left.

      Today the orchestra was giving a matinee concert. They were playing Rachmaninoff’s second piano concerto with a well known pianist. Sadie had found a discarded programme left on a seat from the previous night’s performance. She could never have afforded to pay for a seat in the theatre nowadays, but she loved to listen to the old classics and had CDs of all her favourites which she treasured.

      Sadie had recently discovered that this particular door was not locked, and was only used as an emergency exit. So she had summoned her courage and slipped in there this afternoon when all the audience had been settled in their seats and there was no one left outside.

      Sadie had stood up for a while. It was only a small space, about a metre wide, but enough room for her. She had been ready to make a run for it in case anyone decided to check the door, but so far so good. She could hear everyone settling down and gradually quieten as the lights dimmed, and then the orchestra started with the opening bars. She longed to have a look through the curtain but didn’t dare, as one of the ushers could be standing close by, so it wasn’t worth the risk. She could hear just fine, though, so she settled herself on the carpeted floor and gave herself up to the glorious music. Sadie felt transported with joy, she felt a rapturous bliss which was so overwhelming and beautiful she could hardly bear it.

      For nearly a couple of hours, Sadie forgot the seemingly insurmountable problems with her life, and when the last notes finally died away and the applause started, she couldn’t move for a moment. She was still so completely transfixed, but then she had to struggle to get to her feet, realising that she had to hurry out of there before everyone started leaving.

      She cautiously opened the door and peeked out. There was no one in sight, so she quickly left, making her way to the staff room where the other girls were waiting to go to work in the theatre.

      ‘You look happy, Sadie,’ remarked someone. ‘What have you been up to then?’

      She wanted to say, ‘Having a feast of lovely music,’ but she knew they wouldn’t understand, and anyway Sadie wasn’t about to share her hiding place with anyone.

      ‘Nothing much,’ she said. ‘I just had a lovely late lunch with an old friend.’

      The Gift

      The guests were gone. The party was over, and there was a big mess to clean up. All the presents were stacked on a side table.

      Sally settled back onto the couch with a sigh. ‘That was a great party, wasn’t it?’ She sounded tired but happy.

      ‘It was a good idea of yours to have a house-warming,’ her partner Bob called back from the kitchen where he was starting to clean up. ‘Everyone has been so kind. I never thought we would have got so much stuff.’

      ‘Leave that for now,’ she said. ‘Come and have a drink and we’ll clean it up later. There’s still a present to open.’ Sally reached over to the table and picked up an unopened parcel sitting among all the opened gifts.

      Bob poured the last of a bottle of red into a glass and sat down. ‘Who’s that from then?’ he asked.

      Sally was looking a bit dumbfounded at the parcel. It was wrapped in newspaper, and tied with string. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘There’s no tag or anything. I have no idea where this could have come from.’ She shook it gently. ‘Doesn’t rattle.’

      ‘Oh yes, I remember now, somebody found it on the doorstep and brought it in with them,’ remarked Bob, ‘I forget who it was.’

      Indeed, there had been a few people there who Bob didn’t recognise. They were folks from the Helping Hand centre where Sally volunteered once a week. This was a drop-in centre where people could have a cuppa and meet with other folks for a chat, a game of cards and so on. There were quite a few elderly people without family who were regulars and Sally loved to chat with them. Sometimes she would invite people home for a meal, as had happened in this case. She and Bob had recently moved into the big old house which the salesman had called a renovator’s dream, but it had been a bargain. Bob had started on the renovations and it was beginning to look rather better than it had when they had moved in, so they had decided it was time for a house-warming party.

      Sally started unwrapping the parcel. It was quite big, about fifty centimetres square. There was more newspaper inside and Sally took it off, finally revealing a painting in a beautiful antique wooden carved frame.

      They were both speechless for a moment. Sally peered at the name, just discernible, written into the bottom right-hand corner. ‘Edward Greenaway, 1960,’ she read.

      ‘My goodness.’ Bob looked at it closely. ‘Who on earth?’

      Sally was holding it reverently. ‘It’s beautiful.’ She brushed it gently with her fingers. ‘It’s oils, and it’s old, and considering it was painted in 1960 the colours are still bright and lovely.’

      Indeed, it was a well executed painting of a landscape, containing a derelict looking pioneer hut with a background which looked like the Flinders Ranges.

      ‘I wonder who left this for us,’ wondered Sally. ‘We don’t know who to thank.’

      ‘Well,’ said Bob, ‘I expect we’ll find out sooner or later. Somebody will own up. In the meantime, we could hang it on that spare hook in the hall.’

      So that’s where they put it, and it was just the right spot, the light catching it every time the front door was opened.

      Next door to Sally and Bob there lived an elderly gentleman. Sally had met him the day before when she had been backing out the car to go to the shops to get things for their house-warming. He had been struggling along the path to the mailbox. The postie had just been. The old chap seemed rather frail and was leaning heavily on his walking stick. He fumbled with the door on the mailbox and a letter fell out onto the footpath.

      Sally had noticed, so she had stopped the car, jumped out and quickly ran across to the gate. ‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘I’ll get that for you.’ She bent and picked up the letter and handed it to him. ‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ she added. ‘I’m Sally. Wwe’ve just moved in next door. Me and my partner Bob. I’m so pleased to meet you.’

      The old gentleman seemed a little overawed, and blinked at the sturdy young woman with short blonde hair, friendly blue eyes and a big smile. He peered at Sally behind thick spectacles. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

      ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name,’ she said.

      He looked warily at her. ‘Just call me Ted,’ he said softly and turned to make his way back along the path.

      A sudden impulse made Sally call after him. ‘We’re having a house-warming tonight. You’d be very welcome.’

      But he ignored her. Or perhaps, she thought, his hearing wasn’t so good. This was the first time she had seen her reclusive neighbour. She wondered whether he would like to go and meet some folks at the Helping Hand. But now was obviously not a good time. She would maybe talk to him about that later.

      Ted had a smile on his face. It was the first time anyone had spoken to him for a long time, apart from the Meals on Wheels people, who barely passed the time of day. They just left the meal and went. They were always in such a hurry.

      He went into the back of the house and looked at all the old paintings stacked against the wall in a spare room. He hadn’t painted anything for a very long time. His failing sight and the arthritis had put paid to that. Now and again the man from the gallery came around and bought one, and it was the sales of these pictures that had helped keep him going these past few years. The numbers were dwindling now; most of the big ones were gone. He wondered whether that pleasant young lady would like a painting for her house-warming party. Sally, wasn’t it? Such a nice person, he thought. So kind. He had indeed heard her invitation, but Ted rarely left the house. He kept himself to himself. He knew he was regarded by the locals as an eccentric old bloke. He didn’t mind. He preferred it that way.

      Ted looked around at the paintings, finally selected one and carefully dusted it off with a rag. It took him quite a while to wrap it up and his arthritic hands didn’t much like having to tie a knot in the string, but he managed. He hoped Sally would like it.

      When the meals on wheels people came that lunchtime, he asked one of them if they would kindly leave it next door. Which they did, but no one was home, so they had left it on the doorstep.

      One morning, Sally’s friend Jane dropped by for a quick coffee. She had previously noticed the painting on the wall and had remarked how nice she thought it was. Now she had an air of excitement about her. ‘Guess what!’ she exclaimed.

      Sally smiled. ‘Just tell me, what is it?’

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