THE END OF THE INCA TRAIL

Four thirty a.m. and a call outside is the signal to fumble for my torch and wriggle like a sleepy maggot towards the door of our tiny tent. I allow enough of my arm out of the down cocoon of my sleeping bag to tug on the zip. The sky is grey with a billion stars and there on the bare ground stand two orange plastic cups, one each. The damp swirls rising from them draw in the cloud of my breath as I steer them through the narrow opening. We scald our throats with the coca tea, find the rest of our clothes that we have not slept in, and then fold ourselves in half to emerge into the morning. On the other side of the valley the glacier Veronica, worshipped by generations of Incas, stands serene in the moonlight. The porters have laid out a row of polythene bowls, each with its individual bar of Camay soap and perfectly folded towel, as a gesture towards cleanliness. We can hear them in the dining tent, joking in their own Quechua language, punctuated with the clattering of pans that promises breakfast. We distract ourselves by tentative stretches to test whether our sore muscles have recovered from yesterday, when we transcended Dead Woman’s Pass, 13,650 feet above sea level. Our dreams all night have been saturated with images of those thousands of stone steps, each a foot high, and with the heart- thumping breathlessness of altitude. Today should be easier. But we must hurry; there is a check point for the final stage of the trail and a queue to join. Then we are past the gate, following torch beams, silent except for our footfalls and poles tapping on stone.

The tropical dawn breaks with the speed of a slowly released dimmer switch. Within minutes colours feed into the greyness and we become aware of the proximity of the cloud forest with its damp leaves and occasional orchids and begonias, some of which only exist in this moist valley. Other trekkers clatter by, unseeing, obsessed with being first there , where even this supreme journey is just another goal. They barge past, their backpacks knocking us sideways on the narrow path.

High fives and hugs as we reach the Sun Gate, just after six. We struggle to focus through the shifting cloud that fills the valley below, straining, peering. Then a wispy gap reveals a glimpse of stone, gone in a second. Wraiths of mist reveal transient ramparts, now a wall, now a field, then veil them again. Until finally the mighty Sun God ends the strip-tease and the whole of Macchu Pichu lies bare below.

After half an hour’s descent we reach the end of our pilgrimage. We have the ancient city to ourselves, then the bus tourists trickle in. Dishevelled, tired and triumphant, we observe their clean trainers and huge cameras. Our feet have followed the ghosts of Incas to their sacred site. We share their magic.

BEESTON CASTLE IN THE SNOW

Beeston and Peckforton castles in the morning sunlight.

January 2011

WARNING

Hello, Plumstead 4539

Caroline, I am really worried about Mummy. I think she’s losing it. I don’t even think she’s looking after herself properly. God only knows what she’s eating. Have you looked in her fridge lately? Well, you’ll get a shock. There’s nothing but a catering size pack of those dreadful fatty sausages. They aren’t even organic. And she’s started buying that gloopy pickle that pubs give you with your Ploughman’s.

I don’t know what you are on about, Louise. She seemed fine when I met her in town last week.

That’s not all - there are seven empty brandy bottles in the recycling.

So what? Perhaps she had a few friends round for a couple of drinks.

And what about her clothes? I swear they are all the charity shop leftovers. She looks like an ancient hippie. And purple really isn’t her best colour. It does absolutely nothing for her. After Gordon and I paid for her to get her colours done, she really should know better.

Well if she likes the things she wears, I can’t see the problem. Maybe the stripy shirt was a bit much with the red hat, but at least she looks cheerful.

But, Caroline, what about those silly satin shoes she wears all the time? They are so unsuitable. And they must have cost her a fortune.

It’s her money, Louise. After all she’s been through, surely she can spend her pension on what she wants. I think they are rather pretty shoes.

It’s not only me, you know. That woman from next door had a word when I was coming out of the gate. Apparently Mummy was in their front garden the other day, helping herself to the larkspur.

The old devil - I didn’t think she had it in her.

Caroline, you really must take this more seriously. I feel we should at least get her to the GP to let him check her over.

What for?

Because she just isn’t herself. She isn’t the Mummy we know. You know what happens to these elderly people. It all starts somewhere, and if families don’t spot the warning signs…

She’s still all there as far as I can see. She’s not that old either.

But what if she gets worse? She’s such an embarrassment. And Gordon says perhaps we ought to be thinking about taking out an enduring Power of Attorney, in case she isn’t managing her affairs sensibly. She must still have most of the money Daddy left.

You and Gordon should get out more, Louise. She’s just fine.

Really, Caroline, you are nearly as bad as she is.

Perhaps I am. Anyway, can’t talk any longer. I’m off to get my hair dyed green. Bye, Louise.

INSPIRED BY THE POEM ‘WARNING’ BY JENNY JOSEPH

An Astonishing Adventure at Aunt Annie’s

Arthur, an amateur actor, and Agnes, an aspiring accountant, arrived at Acacia Avenue and ascended to Aunt Annie’s abode, an azalea adorned apartment above an alley. Aunt Annie’s amiable Australian acquaintance, Albert, an apothecary, had already arrived, accompanying an agile and active, albeit aggressive animal, an Alsatian. All appeared attractively attired, Agnes, azure-eyed and alluring as always, Aunt Annie adorned as appropriately as ancient age and an artificial arm allowed, Arthur artistic and aristocratic, and Albert, an antipodean Adonis.

All ate asparagus and artichokes as appetisers, an ample anchovy and aubergine omelette accompanying an acceptably acid amontillado, and, as afters, assorted apples, almonds and apricots. Afterwards, appetites assuaged and abdomens aching, an animated argument arose. After all attempts at avoiding an altercation, Arthur, annoyed, announced abrasively that all Anzacs are arrogant avaricious adventurers. Albert aggravated the abuse, accusing Arthur’s aggression as an absurd Anglo-Saxon attitude against aliens. Agnes, antagonised, answered assertively. Atrocious after-dinner manners and awful anger abounded as adversaries attacked.

Then an awful accident arose, astounding all assembled. An alien apparition approached, an Albino Anaconda, as anaemic as alabaster, absconded from an animal asylum, appeared above Annie’s artificial aspidistra and attacked Albert’s Alsatian. Annie administered aqua-vitae and Agnes aspirin, adrenalin and antihistamines. Alas, all attempts to ameliorate advancing anaphylaxis achieved nought. All anger allayed, Albert attended aghast as an ailing Alsatian angel accessed the animal afterlife.

To atone for anger and attempt to make amends, Arthur, Agnes and Albert apologised abjectly to Aunt Annie. Asserting age’s authority, Aunt Annie affirmed agreement and accepted all apologies.

A GOOD VIEWING SPOT

Amber stifled a yawn and took a sideways peek at Grandma’s enormous bag, propped between them on the pavement. She wondered what the odds were that Grandma had another packet of chocolate biscuits. Quite good, she reckoned; Grandma’s bag was bottomless and guaranteed to prepare you for any imaginable emergency. The last biscuit, munched with a flask of hot coffee just as the sun was coming up over the Thames, felt like a long while ago. She calculated that this was the earliest she had ever got up, apart from the school trip to Margate in Year Four. She and Grandma had crept out of the house before even the Tube was running and had to wait in the morning cold for an all-night bus service, full of early workers. Not as many as usual, Grandma had explained, owing to this being a special bank holiday in honour of the wedding. But the early start had been worth it, to have got such a good spot for their two little camp chairs.

Grandma was an old hand at this, in more ways than one. She was proud to have seen every royal wedding since the Queen had married the Duke of Edinburgh, though if pressed on that one she would admit she had actually been too young to remember much about it. The coronation was a different matter, and she still had a jigsaw of the golden state coach; it lived in a battered old red white and blue box in the sideboard cupboard and it had a piece of sky missing at the top near Admiralty Arch. On wet days Amber was allowed to do the puzzle.

Grandma had slumped sideways in her camp chair and her eyes were shut; no chance of a biscuit yet then, not until she had finished ‘resting her eyes’. Amber studied the other people waiting alongside them. Some had brought blankets and sleeping bags and she wondered what it would be like to have a mass sleepover, all night long on the cold hard pavement. Just then there was a commotion behind as some new people turned up and started trying to barge to the front. They had loud voices and used naughty words. The people who were already there did not sound very pleased and used even more rude words. There was a lot of shoving and Amber sprung to her feet, and then found herself carried sideways, away from the camp chairs, and squashed against the red and white stripy plastic of the safety barrier at the edge of the road. It dug into the side of her head so she was glad Grandma had made her put her pink woolly hat on early that morning. She expected to hear Grandma’s voice calling her name, but there was too much shouting and shoving going on. When the pushing stopped, she wriggled enough to see between a lady’s blue jeans and a man in grey to try and work out how to get back to Grandma. But all she could see were the bottomless bag tipped over in the road, the thermos flask and Wet Wipes rolling in the gutter, and Grandma’s brown laced shoes sticking out, her legs not moving. Then she couldn’t see anything any more, just hot wet blurriness. She knew that even when Grandma was fully alert and not flopped at an angle she always took a few seconds to get her knees working well enough to get up from the settee. She must have been too slow off the mark to get up from her chair and those nasty people pushing had knocked her over.

The lady in the blue jeans looked down at the pink hat shaking by her waist and realised what had happened. At the same time another lady gathered up the contents of the bag, whilst two tall black men wearing Arsenal shirts were bending over Grandma. The man in grey began to talk on his mobile. By the time the people had helped Amber back to the chairs, Grandma was sitting, blinking and pale faced, with a red lump swelling visibly on her forehead. She was so relieved to see that Amber was safe. They gave each other the biggest-ever hug and then a nice fat lady gave Amber a yellow fruit gum.

Suddenly two men in dark uniforms appeared from along the road. Amber wondered why they were allowed behind the red and white barriers, but it was clear when they got closer that they must not be ordinary people. Clearly they were saints, as it said in white writing on their uniform that they were both St John. Amber thought it was odd that they both had the same name, but it was not that unusual; there were three Bens and four Mohammeds in her class. It also said Ambulance, but they must have left that behind, on account of the traffic restrictions. Instead they had a big black bag, even bigger than the bottomless bag, and they straightaway took out first aid gear and set about checking the lump on Grandma’s head.

They had hardly finished fixing the dressing when there was a roar of motorbikes as police outriders went past, signalling that the procession was soon arriving. The crowd rustled with expectation and cheers could be heard from further up the road. Amber forgot everything that had happened as soon as she saw the first of the horses. This was a day she would remember all her life and, when she was as old as Grandma, she would tell it to her own grandchildren.

Waitresses

CHARACTERS:
Sarah, a waitress
Lauren, a waitress
Sarah’s father

SCENE:
In a restaurant. Outside it is dark. Lauren is near the kitchen door. Sarah comes through it to join her

SARAH Hi Lauren, Sorry I’m late – I had some work to finish so I came straight from college and then the bus was late. Has Mike said anything about me not being in?

LAUREN No, you’re OK. I don’t think he’s missed you. He’s too busy fussing round that new girl in the kitchen. I think he fancies his chances. Anyway, you’re only ten minutes late. Chill.

SARAH Is it busy?

LAUREN Not really, not for a Friday night. I think everybody went out for Valentine’s instead. It was manic– every table booked up all night and a great queue of people waiting. They were going spare in the kitchen. You can just imagine what Bernie was like. Thinks he’s Gordon Ramsey.

SARAH I‘m glad I wasn’t around. I bet you were rushed off your feet. I hate it when it’s that busy. The kitchen always get things mixed up and then it’s us that have to sort it out with the customers. Some people can be so rude.

LAUREN It’s always busy Valentine’s. I’d have thought Mike would have had you in as well for an extra shift.

SARAH No chance. He’d have had to pay me the extra. He’s so tight you’d think it was his own money. Anyway, I couldn’t have come in. Life is complicated enough getting here as it is, with a Dad like mine.

LAUREN No change then?

SARAH Afraid not. He still treats me like I’m about twelve. Thinks I should be in all the time doing my homework.

LAUREN I don’t know how you stand it

SARAH Not a lot of choice really. He’d kill me if he found out I’ve got a job, and my Mum’s no different. She just goes along with whatever he says.

LAUREN I’m glad my Mum’s not like that. She even got me this job. She used to be at school with Mike’s sister. How do they expect you to manage without your wages?

SARAH Who knows? It’s just as well you put in a good word for me with Mike and got me taken on here or I’d be really short of money. Oh well, it looks like table seven is ready to order.

LAUREN And the couple near the window on table one should have finished their coffees by now. Can you just do me a favour and see if they are ready when you go past? I need to bring out the starters for four and check if the mains are ready for eight.

SARAH Sure
Both go to tables. Sarah takes order then goes to kitchen, walking behind window table. The couple at the table are looking out of the window and do not appear to see her. There is a reflection in the glass. Lauren returns

SARAH Oh my God, Lauren, I’m really sorry. I couldn’t clear table one. You’ll never believe it, but it’s my Mum and Dad. Can you do it and I’ll do your tables at the back and hope they don’t see me?

LAUREN You’re joking! Yeah, don’t worry. Just keep out of the way and they probably won’t notice you in this dim light. They’ll most likely be going soon in any case; they came in early.

Lauren goes to window table

LAUREN Anything else, sir?

FATHER No thank you. That was excellent. Just the bill, please.

Lauren goes and returns with bill

Father reads it and pays with large pile of notes

LAUREN Thank you sir, but excuse me, it isn’t that much. The lighting is so dim in here it is difficult to see, I know.

FATHER No, there’s no mistake. The rest is a tip.

LAUREN That’s extremely generous of you sir, but that’s way more than people usually tip. It’s as much as the meal cost. I couldn’t possibly take that much.

FATHER Oh yes you could. You are to share it between yourself and your colleague over there. I know you’re a good friend to her. Tell her that this customer has realised how hard she has been working, and that the pair of you deserve every penny of it. You can’t keep many secrets in a town this size, you know.

Winks, waves across to Sarah, rises, collects coats and leaves with mother, both smiling. Sarah and Lauren, open mouthed, watch them go. Ends with a clatter as Sarah loses her grip on her empty tray and drops it.