Flashing On The Riviera

By Elizabeth Ducie

What must you do to truly look after your brother? What finally made Anna Petrovna smile? Why was the bridegroom reluctant? And what choice does Vasily make? The answers to these and many other questions can be found in 'Flashing On The Riviera'.

A free gift to my readers, to celebrate National Flash Fiction Day 2016, this is a collection of flash fiction pieces written over a number of years, for a variety of competitions, with varying degrees of success. The common factor is that they have all been broadcast on Bea Hutchings' shows on Riviera FM; hence the title!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Ducie
• Release date: Jun 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310369018

Elizabeth Ducie

I have been writing since I was very young. When I was a teenager, essays and poetry helped me win my first overseas trip via a newspaper competition. I returned to creative writing in 2006 after 30+ years as a technical writer. For the past ten years, I've had great fun experimenting with different types of writing. I've written articles for content websites and on commission. I've written short stories and poetry for competitions — and have had a couple of wins, several honourable mentions and some short-listing.Since 2009, I have been co-editor of the Chudleigh Phoenix Community Magazine and we have grown it from a 4-page, bimonthly publication to a monthly 12-pager. Together with co-editor Sharon Cook, I launched the Chudleigh Phoenix Annual Short Story Competition, which ran for five years but is currently on sabbatical.In July 2011, we published a collection of short stories. Life is Not a Trifling Affair received such positive feedback from our readers, we brought out a second collection in November 2012. This one is called Life is Not a Bed of Roses. Both anthologies are available either as paperbacks or as ebooks.I have also published several books on my own: Sunshine and Sausages is a how-to book on running a successful summer garden party. Parcels in the Rain and Other Writing is a collection of short stories, flash fiction, travel writing and memoirs. The Business of Writing is aimed at helping writers understand the basics of running a small business. It is available as a series of ebook or as a composite paperback.My first novel, which is set in Russia and based partly on my travel experiences, is called Gorgito's Ice Rink. It was published in 2014 and was Runner Up in the 2015 Self-Published Book of the Year Awards. My second novel, which is set in Southern Africa and is based on the sometimes murky world of drugs manufacture, is called Counterfeit! It was published in July 2016 and is the first in a series of thrillers. The second book, called Deception! will be published in summer/autumn 2017.I am a member of the Chudleigh Writers' Circle, Exeter Writers, west of England Authors and ALLi ( Alliance for Independent Authurs). I spend far too much time on Facebook and Twitter, but have met some great writing buddies along the way.

Book preview

Skimming Stones with Dad

The front door slams behind me with a noise that I'm sure I would find satisfying if I wasn't so damn angry! I wrench the gate open, throw myself through and yank it closed behind me. I swear I'm never going back in that house again! The man's just too stubborn for his own good. Always thinking he knows best.

I'm halfway down the road, and the red mist is just starting to clear, when my brain gives me something else to think about. A sharp biting feeling in the side of my heel each time I put my foot to the floor. I stop striding along, and stand on one leg, shaking the other foot and flexing my toes inside my boot. I feel something small dislodge and slide down to the front where it lies trapped by the soft leather. I try a few steps but the object lodges against my big toe and starts stabbing me once more. There's nothing for it—I'm going to have to take the boot off and eject the foreign object before I walk any further.

I sit on the wall of Mrs Johnson's front garden. She's been a neighbour of ours forever and has been wonderful with Dad in the past few months, since Mum passed away. She won't mind me sitting here.

As I unzip the boot and pull it off, I am hit with an unexpected wave of déjà vu. It's the way the boot tilts and the stone rolls out, falling to the floor and rolling away. I suddenly see a river bank, a gently flowing current of water—and me, sitting on the side of the bank, sniffling. We've been skimming stones for ages, Dad and me. He's much better than me and although he's been patiently trying to teach me, I still can't manage more than two hops before my stone sinks to the bottom of the water. Now it's time to go home. As I turn away from the river, I feel a sharp stabbing pain in my toe. I cry out and sit down with a bump.

Something bit me, Dad, I whine;it really hurts. I'm such a drama queen. I blink really hard and force a lone tear down my cheek. I doubt if Dad is fooled, but he gently takes off my shoe, removes the stone, and then rubs my foot to make it better. Then he helps me put the shoe back on and holds my hand all the way home. After a while I forget to limp and the incident of the stone in the shoe is also forgotten—until now.

And then, with a rush, other memories return: Dad picking me up when I fell off my scooter; Dad stroking my hair and singing me to sleep when I'm scared of the thunder. Dad, always there, always looking after me.

I stand up and retrace my steps. I walk quietly through the gate. I open the front door and close it gently behind me.

Dad, I call, it's me. Where are you, Dad? Let's talk about this. What can I do to help?

Return to Table of Contents

Reflection of Control

It was the walk-in wardrobe that sold it to me. More like a small dressing room really with racks on the two long walls, at different levels, for dresses and coats, for skirts and trousers, and for shirts and blouses; plus shelves at floor level for shoes. Dave took one look and turned to the estate agent with a hollow laugh:

Game over! There's not going to be anything else on your books to match this!

I barely heard him; I was gazing at the other two walls, facing each other, both covered floor to ceiling with mirrors. Not your modern, smooth glass plates, but framed, vintage mirrors, with carving all around the edges.

It's perfect! I whispered, we'll take it.

Clothes were my passion and I'd always been particular about my appearance; careful to avoid visible panty lines; never wearing anything that showed a bra strap; and never, ever wearing anything too tight. I was known for my sense of grooming and my ability to always look the part, wherever we went.

As soon as we moved in, I started unpacking my suitcases and shoe boxes. Dave suggested he might have just one of the rails for his shirts, but I soon put him right on that: there was plenty of room for his stuff in the wardrobe in the spare room; and it wasn't as though he cared about his looks like I did. Although I did say he could come and use my mirrors anytime he wanted to.

Generous of you, he said, with what I thought was just a touch of unnecessary sarcasm. He tried it once, as we were getting ready for a christening, but I was busy trying on different dresses, deciding which looked the best for an April church visit and he kept getting in the way; so I bought him a large mirror of his own and