– I was dumped last weekend, mum.

– Oh, dear, again? You have had quite a few of those, haven’t you? Oh, well, to be fair you have done a fair share of dumping yourself, haven’t you, so well, sometime a dumper, sometime a dumpee, but this one would have never worked out, what was even her name?

– Chloe.

– Hmm, yeah, I liked a couple of them, I was quite cross with you when you dumped that cute one, the first one, you know, the one who looked a bit…

– Julia

– …like me, yeah, Julia. She was really lively, and pretty, of course, cute girl, you know you were both very young and all that but I thought it was so sweet that you got all dressed up in your tuxedo all over again the next day just so you could take a proper photo with her, after that ball you two went to. And the girls liked her too, she talked to them about Jacqueline Wilson, remember? Yeah, she was my favourite, perhaps you could look her up again, or perhaps I could write her a letter, hi Julia, remember Matt, my son, he has just been dumped, again, would you mind giving him a second chance, I know he dumped you and all that, he thought you were a bit mentally, you know, but I am sure this can be managed with  medication, so please get in touch, he is still good looking, he ran the London marathon since you two last went out so still fit.

– I am not sure about that, mum

– Oh, don’t be silly, it’s worth a try. Another one I really like was Zoe, the last one at uni…

– Sarah…

– That’s the one. She was very friendly, and I think she kept you on straight and narrow, and she looked after you well, you could have tried a bit harder to keep her interested you muppet. Yes, she was a good one. I didn’t really like Lucy that much though.

– Leah

– That’s right. She was a bit bland, I can’t even remember her that well to be honest, just her brown boots when she came to stay, nice boots. Brown Boots Lucy, ha ha ha.

– Leah.

– And then there was this bubbly one who was never your girlfriend, but I really fancied her as a daughter in law, you see I am dreading not getting along with your wife, but she was great, a lot of fun, I loved how she sent you to bed and carried on drinking with your dad and me until all hours, oh boy were you grumpy about that, love. I am glad it didn’t work out between you and Elsa

– Louise

– Yeah, she was going to mess you around, so I am glad she did it straight away, sooner rather than later, all that big blond hair, that spelt trouble I could see it a mile away. Anyway, it’s getting late, I am glad we had this chat, aren’t you?

– Yes, mum.

 

How are your Halloween preparations going? Not applicable to your household? Lucky you.

At ours, two out of three kids seem to have outgrown it, and my husband is not too bothered if he spooks anybody any more on that day than any other day (kidding, honey, just kidding), but that still leaves our last born and, boy, does she make up for the others’ indifference. She can go from ‘normal’, yes, we still use this word, we like to court controversy, so anyway, it’s normal to world record stress and anxiety in ten seconds flat with our Lexi, and this week the subject is very much Halloween.

First, there is an issue of whether she has one Halloween event to attend or two.

A while ago she was vaguely invited to a Saturday night Halloween party at her best friend’s grandparents’ house, but as Saturday steadily approaches this has not been confirmed properly, so now Lexi is no longer sure whether she is invited or whether the party is indeed happening. I suggested texting the friend and asking, but Lexi just stared at me blankly not able to comprehend how I could be proposing something so awkward, so utterly out of the question.  The second event, and this one at least is fully confirmed and straightforward, is good old trick-or-treating nearby on Halloween night proper.

The costume question first arose some weeks ago. Lexi does not do obvious or predictable. She does not go for conventional or easy either. That ruled out vampire girls, fangs, fake scars, cobwebs and witches hats from the start. In fact anything black, anything off the peg in our local Tesco Extra did not get a look in.

Lexi went for Jellyfish instead.
I must admit that when she first announced her decision in early September, I totally underestimated the seriousness of the situation. In fact, it did not fully register with me until weeks later Lexi started devoting considerable amount of time to searching for ‘transparent dome umbrellas’. A while later Amazon purchase was made and she became a proud owner of a blue rimmed, you guessed it, transparent dome umbrella. I hung it off a back of a chair in the living room and life went on as usual for a while longer.

Conversations with Lexi became progressively Jellyfish-centred about a week ago.

– What shall I use as tentacles?
– Ribbons or crepe paper?
– What colours should I use?
– Perhaps I could get fairy lights to wrap around the umbrella?
– Yeah, but then you will need to be plugged in somewhere all the time.
– No, daddy, they are battery operated these days.
– Lexi, how are you going to enjoy the party if you have to hold an umbrella above your head all the time?, her ever practical sister ventured.
– Oh, I didn’t think of it.
– So, when you don’t hold the umbrella up, what is you costume going to be like?
– A grey hoodie and leggings.
– Not very scary, then.
– No, not really, not without the umbrella.

Cracks began to appear on the surface of Lexi’s steely resolve. Her internal struggle was painful to watch. Nana was recruited onto the Jellyfish support team. Nana told her to go to Poundland and get a normal, oops, that naughty word again, Halloween costume and be a good Zombie girl.

The Jellyfish was not giving up without a fight.

At about the same time I started quoting all the slogans that cover every inch of Lexi’s walls back to her. Never give up on your dream. Do not let anybody tell you your dream won’t work. Only you can be the judge of it.
I was hoping to help her realise that she might be overthinking the issue. It had the opposite effect and it only reinforced Jellyfish’s resistance.

Still, an alternative idea sprouted in Lexi’s torn and confused mind, and it took the shape of Coraline, the eponymous heroine of that creepy button-eyed Disney film that caused nationwide nightmares and bed-wetting epidemic a few years ago.

The Coraline idea must have been inspired by a simple fact that Lexi owns a yellow raincoat, an indisputably Coraline-esque garment. Coraline also has blue hair. Ever-resourceful Lexi dug out a blue and white cat-patterned woolly hat with a pompom. Coraline has yellow wellies. Lexi has dark blue wellies, which still fit her, but only just, so it would be good to get some more use out of them, wouldn’t it?

A number of Coraline characters sport disturbing buttons in place of eyes. Lexi has a jar of big buttons she could carry around, possibly in her pocket, to keep her hands free, because otherwise what would be the point of swapping a jellyfish umbrella for a jar of buttons?
The white and blue hat really suits Lexi and those wellies, hat and raincoat give her a female Where is Wally look.  She looks nothing like Coraline and I think she knows it.
She stares longingly at the blue-rimmed umbrella in the corner.
Jellyfish is far from dead in the water.

31st October 2017 Update below.

Happy Halloween!

 

Spoiler alert: sickeningly self-centred egotistical piece indulging in interminable self-promotion. And this is just the beginning. More to come, and soon. You have been warned.

Here I am, delivering an extract from my story, Interpretation of a Murder, at my first ever literary launch event, on Thursday, the 5th of October 2017, at a rather cosy venue in Waterloo.  I wish myself many more, but this one will have to do for now. I am addressing a small gathering, there is no escaping the numbers, during the launch of In More Words, an anthology of very short stories relating to the art of interpreting. I have researched it since and it turns out there is a name for it, and it’s been going on for a while, and it is called flash fiction, or non-fiction, and the stories might be more correctly called micro-stories. The event clearly went to my head. So much so, that I wasted no time in setting up this brand new, rather pretentious, fiendishly ambitious website, which introduces Ania Heasley, the writer.  Since the launch I climbed several rungs up, if only in my own estimation, the ladder to literary success, and I am now balancing precariously on the brink of fame and fortune.  Thank you for reading.