Tuesday 11 January 2011
21:07 | Posted by
Dale Darley |
She had never thought of herself as a thief, that was until he had left them. Providence had saved them and the council had rehomed them, and as luck would have it, to a pristine block close to Belle Vue Park. Joe’s birthday was fast approaching and all the upheaval had frayed her nerves. She hadn’t meant to snap that morning, but his whining voice was chafing.
She had taken to wandering around the park aimlessly since being signed off work. A month she thought, did they really think her heart would heal in a month? She had seen the boats through the trees many times, but had never thought to take a closer look. Just recently she had lifted her head from the murk that was her brain and started to observe park life. Autumn was upon her, fall they called in America, where he had headed with his mistress, I hope they do, she smiled, her first one in almost three weeks.
Just one boat was there today, milling in a pool of tranquillity, unlike her thoughts whipped up into a storm. It’s gleaming hull, pure white, in stark contrast to the black kitten playing idly at the water’s edge. She wondered how she might make the owner surrender his vessel. She was scared of water, a swimming accident as a child rendered her incapable of even sitting on a beach. Edging closer, she imagined herself as Rita Hayworth, glamorous, resplendent in blood red costume and high heels giggling, with the dashing captain, sipping champagne. Knowing her luck he’d be more like Blackbeard, with last night’s dinner caught in his rotten teeth and a rough rum stench. At least he would be seducible; she could tempt him with her buxom bosom and lily white thighs. She giggled.
Quickly looking around, she really was alone, marooned and left to face her fate, she shouted ‘bastard’, taking up her cutlass she savaged her errant husband. She snarled, jabbing the cold morning air. ‘Take that’, she cried as she jabbed again. Hysterical laughter filled the air, she looked around to see where it was coming from. It was her. She stopped and took a hold of herself, took a deep breath. She had a boat to liberate.
Out of nowhere, hot tears shot from her eyes and cannon balled down her naked face. Through her tears the boat tormented her, she crept closer. The water shallow like men’s promises urged her on. The name Gracie caught her unawares; she had almost been called Gracie. Gracie Fields had died the day she was born 27 September 1979. She had come a long way since her birth in Rochdale to the cocoon of the park in Richmond. Glancing back at the tree lined path, a couple sauntered hand in hand, too wrapped up in their world to notice her, she was truly alone.
Bravery lifted her, she was Anne Bonny a women full of gumption and a heart of steel, she marched forward. In that moment she was aboard and in control, cutting through the water with the roar of the 2000-horsepower engines, the plumes of spray leaving a misty trail behind her.
All rational thought left her, the bounty before her, she hauled her vast frame forwards, reached and scooped the kitten and charged for the park gates.
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