Chick's Royal

By A. J. S. Macdonald

These six short stories by A. J. S. Macdonald explore the themes of desire, redemption love and loss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. J. S. Macdonald
• Release date: Feb 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311814371

A. J. S. Macdonald

A. J. S. Macdonald is a retired forester and enthusiastic angler with two sons and lives in England.

Book preview

CHICK’S ROYAL

and other stories

A. J. S. Macdonald

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 A. J. S. Macdonald

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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CONTENTS:

THE DRAGON’S EGG

ARTHUR

THE REDEMPTION OF JONATHON FRY

TWO TREES

MARJORY’S CAT

CHICK’S ROYAL

THE DRAGON’S EGG

‘Danny, did you hear me? I said five o’clock and no later!’ The old woman shrilled optimistically to the back of the springbok she called her grandson. With her foot she held open the door of the time-worn coastguards’ cottage while waving a bony hand. ‘Danny!’

The youngster turned and raised an arm in acknowledgement before plunging headlong down the steep path to the beach. Twenty metres below, where the path zig-zagged across a wide grassy ledge splashed with the yellow and purple of trefoil and rock-lavender, the boy stopped running. A light breeze dishevelled his fine blonde hair and he brushed it from his face with a flick of his wrist. He flopped onto the verge and dangled his legs over the edge. A black-backed gull, disturbed by this intrusion, soared away screeching its irritation. Danny held out his arms, mimicking the bird’s every movement as it swept down to alight among a small colony of its brethren on the sandy, rock-strewn beach, forty or fifty metres below. Several of the other birds opened their wings in greeting, their cries rising above the distant rush of the surf.

Danny lay back, gazed up into a cloudless sky and wondered if the hurt would ever go away. He had so looked forward to having a brother or sister and Dad had told him that when he brought Mum home from hospital he would have one.

He didn’t….he didn’t have a mum either.

It had seemed right then to bring his mother’s ashes back to the place she loved and for him, Dad and Gran to mourn, each in their own way, but together.

Since that time they had returned annually. Gran to watch the birds, enjoy the wild flowers, read and crotchet; Dad to sleep and play golf on the links a little way up the coast; and Danny to simply play. And on the last day each spent the final few hours saying their goodbyes. For Danny this meant one more sit upon his favourite perch high above the bay and a final, all-important visit to the beach.

Idly the boy picked pink flower heads from a clump of thrift and held them in the crook of his forefinger before flicking them into space with his thumb. He peered down at the half-moon of silver sand and watched the surf washing the beach with its transient foam.

Two oystercatchers roamed the water’s edge and out, just beyond the white water, the black shape of a cormorant slipped softly beneath the surface. Watching for its re-emergence, Danny tried to imagine how it must feel to be master of both air and water and, for a few moments, withdrew into that solitary world where he spent so much of his time. Often when he was at home he would sit dreaming and his father would look at him strangely and ask what he was thinking. He always got embarrassed and said ‘Nothing.’ But Danny’s imagination was his best friend and here, in his seaside wonderland he could enjoy its company to the full.

Danny stood up. Time was passing and he had yet to visit the beach. He picked his way down the stony path and swung his hands lazily at loose spikelets of hard grass and fescue, setting tiny powder-puffs of pollen adrift on the sea breeze.

When he reached the bottom of the path, the boy skipped between the boulders at the foot of the cliff and onto the sand. He kicked off his sandals and sprinted barefoot to the end of the cove where a wide promontory nosed into the ocean. Danny climbed to its plateau and ran to the large pool in its centre which he had christened the Magic Mirror.

The first time he looked into it all he saw was a reflection of himself but, with practice, he found he could see right through his face into an ever-changing underwater world he never tired of exploring. He blinkered his eyes with cupped hands and peered into the natural aquarium. Winkles and whelks clung to the sides of the pool grouped among multi-coloured, jewelled anemones like dahlias on a dewy summer morning. Tiny sucker fish darted in and out of coralline forests in their panic to escape his shadow. Danny, amused by their antics, waved an arm over the water to encourage further activity and as he did so an icy gust of wind caught the nape of his neck. Strangely chilled, Dnny looked round as if to find the source of his discomfort. He shivered and returned his attention to the Magic Mirror. But the likeness he saw there was not his own. Staring back at him was the face of his mother.

Disbelieving, Danny pushed his fists into his eyes and rubbed furiously, but when he re-opened them the image remained. He smiled and his mother’s face smiled back. Aching to touch her he reached out but