Ethelbert's Sunday Morning

By Marcus Freestone

These thirteen short stories range from comedy to drama and horror, and from the mundane and everyday to the downright bizarre.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marcus Freestone
• Release date: Mar 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301981960

Marcus Freestone

My main work is the T14 series of thrillers about a futuristic, high tech counter terrorism agency headed by a man with a computer implant in his brain. The first book "The Memory Man" is permanently free in e-book. I also have a series of novellas on the subject of mental health and psychology. My most popular book is "Positive Thinking And The Meaning Of Life" which has had 200,000 downloads. It deals with psychology, philosophy, depression, anxiety, mental health in general and the human condition.I have also released more than 50 albums, ranging from metal and rock to jazz and ambient/electronica. And last but not first I also produce the "Positive Thinking And The Meaning Of Life" podcast and "The Midnight Insomnia Podcast", a comedy show with ambient music and abstract visual images.

Book preview

ETHELBERT'S SUNDAY MORNING: A SHORT STORY COLLECTION

MARCUS FREESTONE

SMASHWORDS EDITION

COPYRIGHT MARCUS FREESTONE 2013

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

MISS CARRIAGE

SPYING

ETHELBERT'S SUNDAY MORNING

BREAKDOWN

I DON'T KNOW MUCH ABOUT ART BUT I KNOW WHAT I LIKE

MICHAEL AND THE BOSS

WHAT'S THAT SMELL?

LIKE FATHER

INTO THE CAVE

GOING HOME

BUDGET

TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE GRAVY

SPYING THREE YEARS ON

MISS CARRIAGE

This is a strange dream. I'm lying in a cat scanner surrounded by beeping noises. Despite working in a hospital for twelve years I've never had a medical dream before.

Oh, I think I'm waking up.

What's happened to the scanner, where's the ceiling going?

Where the hell did this train come from?

Someone switch off that fucking dalek.

Oh brilliant, now I'm having a heart attack as well.

No, what's that on my chest? Oh, it's my phone. How do you open this bloody thing? What does this button do?

Stop beeping you bloody... bleeping bastard.

Hello? Come on, Keith!

Who said that?

Put the phone to your mouth, Keith.

Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom?

You're on a train, Keith.

Aren't I supposed to say that?

Get it together, Keith, I know she didn't leave you any money but you've got to sort yourself out. You can't spend every Saturday night in a railway sidings. We need you here now.

Where are you?

I'm at the hospital, where you should have been hours ago. Obviously you can't administer the anesthetic but you're the only person in a forty mile radius who knows how to turn the machine on.

What's that noise, it sounds like an exploding bee?

That was me telling you the patients name, the forty seven year old Polish woman who'll probably die if you don't get here soon.

She had loads of money, a few grand isn't much to expect. Not even mentioning my name in the will. Ungrateful bitch.

Bloody hell, I'm thirsty, I wonder if there's a buffet car on this train?

What the fuck? Where did this field come from? How long have I been standing here? What's that light over there? A cafe!

Sorry? How much? Oh, I've had seven coffees and three bacon sarnies, have I? In that case that's quite reasonable. There you go, keep the change.

Right, better phone work now. When did I switch this off? Oh yes, that exploding bee was annoying me.

Hello? Okay, I've sobered up and I'm fighting fit now. Let's deliver this baby.

It's too late now Keith, we don't need you any more.

Hey, the birds are singing, it must be morning.

Goodbye, Keith.

Excuse me – can I have another coffee, please?

SPYING

Matt knocked at the door. Julia opened it after a long pause and looked distinctly displeased to see him. A puzzled look flitted across his face before he gathered his thoughts.

Hi, I'm back.

I can see that, she said frostily.

He went to kiss her on the lips but she pulled away and went back into the flat. He shrugged and followed her in. He paused in the living room, looking at some home made rugs which hung over the back of the sofa. He waited for her to speak. She didn't. Nor did she meet his eye.

I see you've been hard at work again. What's this one - dead man's trousers, old syringes, soiled bandages and catheters?

Don't be obtuse, Matt, I use recycled hospital waste but not that. I couldn't make a rug from catheters. Or syringes; trust you.

Is that another regional stereotype?

What?

Syringes - I'm from Dundee not Glasgow.

Julia busied herself with tidying the rugs into a slightly neater pile, still avoiding his eye.

Hmm. This wasn't exactly the welcome home I was expecting. She can't know, can she? Of course not. So why is she being so frosty? I was rather hoping for a shag after a hard week away.

Coffee?

What? Oh. Please.

He followed her into the kitchen where she began a prolonged routine of collecting a tray, mugs and biscuits - anything to avoid talking. He watched her, wondering what on earth was the matter.

Milk?

How long have you known me, Julia?

Sorry, I forgot, if you have milk your head falls off and your knees explode.

It's a dairy intolerance, not a...

She shot him a sharp look and he lapsed into silence.

Is it her period? I'd better not ask, not when she has access to cutlery.

As the kettle boiled and punctured the awkward silence she fastidiously rearranged her fridge magnets. Turning back to the kettle she caught him watching her.

Stop looking at my arse!

It's hard not to, those jeans are tighter than an Edinburgh accountant. Anyway, I've seen your arse, and your...

Don't you dare!

She looked flustered and turned away to pour the coffee.

"I was going to use an artistic term, not a gynecological one! Anyway you can't regret posing for 'naked primary school teacher by moonlight'? It was