This is the fourth part of a fiction serial, in 1170 words.

Hannah.

Choosing a husband with a German name wasn’t the brightest idea perhaps, she knew that. But at the time, he was as good an option as any, and his name was irrelevant. Later on, she had cause to regret it, when constantly asked to explain it, and endure listening to numerous questions and theories about how it had arrived in her husband’s family. In truth, Hannah had never wanted to get married. She was always happiest playing sport with her friends, especially Netball. But after being selected for that big game, then being dropped immediately after, her mood had descended into a dark place, and had never really recovered. So when Ian had asked her out on a date, she had agreed. He was too easy, she saw that immediately. Rather immature, and keen to please, she could control him like a puppet. So she did. The marriage was her idea, and he went along with it. Better to be married to someone as dry and boring as him, rather than a man who might try to dominate her, perhaps even ruin her life.

Having the baby seemed like the thing to do, and Ian went along with that too. Hannah wanted to be accepted in some sort of social circle at first, and being a mum provided an instant opportunity. The trouble was, she had felt nothing at all for Roland. He looked like one of the distant relations on Ian’s side, with his white-blonde hair and blue eyes. They named him Roland, but Hannah secretly thought of him as her ‘little Nazi’. Everyone talked about maternal instinct, and the bond of love between mother and baby. But all she could think about was getting no sleep, having to clear up his mess, and constantly keep an eye on him. She managed to maintain some kind of image to the outside world, but it wasn’t easy. Smiles came hard to her face.

But once she could dump the boy at school, life returned to some semblance of normality. Her coaching and team-training gave her not only purpose, but also some reputation in that part of town. Extreme exercise calmed her down too. It suppressed the black rage lurking just below the surface of her mind. Go through the motions. Feed the boy, and Ian. Get the boy to sleep, leave her husband slumped in front of the TV, then life could start, if only for a few hours. That social circle she had sought was soon abandoned. Pudgy women who had never lost the baby fat; droning on about milk pads, dress sizes, and what they were going to cook for dinner. Once the boy started school, she dropped them all at once. Hannah didn’t need anyone else in her life.

Roxanne Mellor was worth cultivating though. Her enthusiasm for children was obvious, and she was happy for Roland to spend as much time in her house as he liked. Hannah pretended to be nice to her, but could only just manage civility. Another saggy-breasted milk-cow, destined to adore her strange little boy until he grew up and abandoned her. She knew the type, instinctively. Still, it meant less work for her, and it kept Roland happy too. On the few occasions she had to return the favour, she watched both boys growing up fast. She sensed a weakness in Finn. He was certainly intelligent, much brighter than her own rather dull son. But he wasn’t right. Something in his eyes. Something dark. Hannah knew about dark. And when she looked at him, he looked back, lowering his eyes. He knew that she knew. Hannah liked to have that power over him. She preferred weak men, and weak boys too. They presented no challenge to someone like her, and could be used. In her case, she used Finn to occupy her son, along with Finn’s doting mum, and her strange older husband, who looked as if he should be her father.

Hannah knew that wasn’t right. That said something about Roxanne, and it said a lot about Anthony too. She understood though. He was a man past the age of playing football with his boy, or taking him on adventurous trips. As much as she used his son to look after the needs of Roland, he abandoned his fatherly role to her own boy, allowing him to be Finn’s protector and companion. It had worked out just right for both of them.

So Hannah would bide her time, until it suited her not to.

Anthony.

“Goodnight, Mr Mellor”. Anthony waved at the receptionist as she left for home. Young Kerry, always asking when she could move on to the role of sales. She was keen as mustard, and knew a lot about cars, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her that her main asset to his business was to serve as eye candy for the customers. Something to smile at when they walked in, and glance across at as they pretended to appraise the various vehicles parked inside the showroom. Keep them interested long enough for the two experienced salesmen to be able to pounce. He wandered out to the front, and bent to lock the double glass doors. He would leave by the back as usual, after setting the alarm. But not just yet.

Returning to his comfortable office, he relaxed in the padded leather chair. It wouldn’t take too much effort to think of an excuse to get home late. A difficult customer, some problem with a delivery, perhaps even breaking down on a test drive. He had used them all before, but was still sharp enough to shuffle the order around, so it never sounded too similar. Otherwise, it would be back home to his excitable wife, and an overcooked dinner. Having to say something suitably encouraging to Finn, and listening to Roxanne drone on about mortgages, house prices, and how things were picking up, after the long slump. He would have to put on a show just long enough, hoping that she would eventually retreat to one of her documentaries on the TV, and he could seek sanctuary with his laptop in the spare bedroom.

Anthony was tempted to fire up his work computer again, but couldn’t be bothered to wait for the length of time it took to load. Checking his watch, he decided to give it ten more minutes. Then he would ring home, and make his excuses. She could put his dinner in the oven to keep warm. It couldn’t taste any the worse for that. And Finn would be up in his room, doing homework, or messaging his friend. He changed his mind about the computer, and pushed the button. As it flickered around, and whirred interminably, he thought about the coming weekend. Hopefully, Roland would be over again. That would keep Finn preoccupied, as well as making Roxanne distracted.

As the screen came to life, he leaned forward and began typing a url into the top bar.

This is the third part of a fiction serial, in 1160 words.

Finn.

Finn Mellor was a boy who led two distinctly different lives. In one, he was bright and intelligent. Outwardly happy and confident. He was a good son, and an even better friend. But the other life could not have been more different. In that life, he harboured secrets. He barely contained his doubts and fears, and suppressed those real terrors that he thought might one day tip him over into insanity.

He did it so well, nobody ever noticed. Not Roly, his closest friend. Not Roxanne, his devoted mother. And certainly not Anthony, his sometimes distracted father. A father who seemed more like the grandparents of other boys, and was regularly mistaken for being one of his. All except one. Roly’s mum, Hannah. She alone looked through his eyes, and spotted whatever was lurking behind them. He knew it. He had seen it in her gaze. The way she acted around him, her obvious discomfort. Finn was sure that she knew everything. The unspoken emotions, the pretence of normality. Staying over at Roland’s house became a trial to be feared. A trial by gaze, by glance, by casual insinuation. Always letting him know that she knew. Not suspected. Knew for certain.

For Rolys’ sake, he acted like it wasn’t happening. Roland was his rock, and although he would never tell him, he was also the love of his life. Carrying on without Roly was unthinkable, so Finn did whatever it took to make sure that never happened. He laughed and joked with Hannah, shutting away that cold, snake-eyed look she always gave him, whatever was being discussed. He was afraid of her. Not physically, not even psychologically. Just afraid of what she knew, and if she would ever tell. Nothing in her manner ever let on if she would reveal him to the world. Bring it all crashing down, perhaps just from spite. When Finn had read about the Sword of Damocles, he had understood completely. Roly’s mum was his own version, waiting to fall onto his head one day.

Spending time with his best friend made it all worthwhile. Roland was so good-looking, with those wonderful blue eyes, and a strong body that made him look older than his years. And he was a good person too, always protecting Finn, standing up for him, and never disloyal. Although they were just thirteen, it felt like they had always been together, and would never be parted. For Finn, that was enough. He would never confess his true feelings, those he had felt developing from a time when he was too young to understand them. That would shatter their friendship. Roly would never understand, of that he was convinced.

So Finn played along. He looked at the websites, giggled about the girls that Roly liked, and he pretended to like them too. He even went so far as to confess to fancying Hannah, just to be included in those teenage fantasies. But the thought of her hard muscular female body, the stone-set features, and those dead eyes made him shudder. If his friend wanted to believe it, then so be it.

In an old schoolbag hidden in the bottom of his wardrobe, Finn kept all his most treasured possessions. Photos of him and Roland over the years. Ticket stubs from trips together to the cinema, birthday cards sent to him by his friend, and a small penknife that he had given him one Christmas. It had been bought with his own pocket-money, not purchased by his parents, like most other gifts. And the notebook of course. The notebook.

There was nothing on the cover to betray what was inside, but on the first page was a name, written in capital letters, with red marker pen. ROLAND THALMANN. It was underlined many times, and surrounded by numerous red hearts, clumsily drawn by a young hand. At school, some boys had teased Roland for his German name. But only until he was big enough to make them scared to do that. Finn had asked him about it. Was his dad a German? How did they get that name? All Roland knew was that it was Swiss, not German. Well, maybe German-Swiss. A long time ago, one of his dad’s relatives had come over from Switzerland, and that was that. Nobody seemed to know any more, or be bothered to find out.

Finn loved the fact that his best friend had such an unusual name. On page two of his book, he had written another name, in the same red pen. FINN THALMANN. He always liked the way that looked, and sounded, when he said it out loud. So much nicer than Mellor. Other pages contained fantasy plans for their future. Trips to India, or far-flung deserts. Camping out under the stars, before a fire made from collected sticks. Riding together on a camel, or swimming in blue seas, looking back at beaches with sand like white flour. They headed off together to Australia, finding work on a sheep farm in the outback, or were spending the summer picking grapes in the Loire Valley, in France. All these fantasy lives gave Finn a much needed escape from the real world he inhabited. A world where only one person understood what was really going on. And he wished that she didn’t. There was no comfort in that knowledge, none at all.

Back in the kitchen, the boys were drinking ice cold Sprite. They had left their thirst for too long, and were now gulping the drink down, fighting against the rising belches. Roly put his empty glass by the sink, and turned to his friend. “So, do you reckon your mum might like me too, Flan? I haven’t got a clue. She just treats me like I’m your brother”. Finn smiled, hearing his now rarely-used nickname.

One day, it was a Sunday, Roly had been over for lunch. Mum had cooked a big roast dinner, and then appeared carrying a large peach flan. Without asking, she served Roly a big slice, and then turned to her son. “Flan, do you want some of this Finn?” Her mixing of the name and the word was even funnier, because she didn’t notice she had said it. The boys laughed so hard, they almost choked. When they explained it to her, Roxanne had squealed with laughter too. After everyone had calmed down, Roly had pointed at Finn, declaring, “From now on, that’s your name. Flan”.

Finishing the last dregs of his own drink, Finn burped loudly, before replying. He had been considering the right response. No point giving Roly the wrong idea, but a little encouragement might serve to keep him interested. Keep him coming round. No harm done.

“Yeah I reckon she really likes you. Naturally she’s going to act like you’re the same as me. But I’ve noticed her looking at you”. He saw the awkward grin spread over Roly’s face, and went with the clincher.

“I reckon she likes you more than even she knows. Certain of it”.

This is the second part of a fiction serial, in 1417 words.

Roland.

“What is about about your friend’s mums? How come we always fancy each other’s mum, but can’t see the attraction ourselves? Don’t you think that’s funny?” Finn smiled. His friend was right. “Well I don’t know, Roly, but we all do, don’t we? I mean, I think Mrs Pearce is gorgeous, really stunning. But Micky Pearce thought I was taking the piss when I told him that, and I thought he was going to punch me”. The two boys sat grinning at that. Little Micky Pearce, like he could fight anyone. Roland thought about his own mum for a moment. A woman who dedicated her life to physical hobbies, and sport. Rarely seen not wearing a tracksuit and trainers, her hair tied back in a tight pony tail. She coached the Netball team in town, and her claim to fame was that she once played for the English Netball Team. But only once. She was so thin, he could count the ribs through her clothes, and her leg muscles stuck out through anything she was wearing. He turned to his best friend again. “Well you fancy my mum, and I don’t get that. She’s skinny, and she looks old”.

When Finn was five years old, Roxanne took him along to the local school, for his first day. He had been well prepared. She had him up to speed with easy reading and numbers, and she had told him what to expect from his first day at proper school. She was starting back at work that day, only school-hours, and she didn’t want any tantrums to upset that. Outside the gate, she spotted a slim woman with another small boy. Slightly taller than Finn, and surprisingly good-looking, with his ice blue eyes, and almost white blonde hair. She went up to the woman and smiled. “Hi, I’m Roxanne. How about we take the boys in together, and let them settle in? They might become firm friends”. Although she must have been much the same age, the slim woman looked older. Her hard face didn’t really soften as she spoke. “Yeah, why not? I’m Hannah, and this is Roland”. Roxanne turned to Finn. “Say hello to Roland, darling. Why don’t you hold his hand? You could be good friends at school”.

By the time she collected him that afternoon, all Finn could talk about was Roland. He was the best friend ever, he told her.

Roland seemed to grow up faster than Finn. He was definitely taller and more muscular, by the time they both went to the secondary school in town. For six years, they had been inseparable. Although they had a wider group of friends, they still stuck together. Roland did well enough in his studies, but it was clear that Finn was more intelligent than any of the other boys. They had spent weekend and school holiday sleepovers at each other’s houses, and Roland had even gone on a summer holiday with them, a week away in a timber lodge in Scotland. But Roxanne and Hannah had never become friends, and seemed to tolerate each other merely for the sake of the boys.

At school, and when wandering around the park, or the shops in town, Roland looked out for his best friend. Older boys avoided the strong-looking protector, and left the quiet and more vulnerable Finn alone. In return, Roland got help with his homework, his understanding of French, and tips on good books to read to help his studies along. They were totally relaxed in their own company, and even started to guess what the other was thinking. Although neither of them mentioned it, they knew they were true friends, and would always be. Whatever else happened.

Always aware of his academic limitations, and the fact that his parents didn’t seem unduly concerned about that, Roland was happy enough. His mum had tried to get him interested in sport, but he lacked the competitive urge for team games. However, he was eager to use the weights she supplied, and worked out to a programme she devised for him. He also noticed his dad becoming more distant as he approached his teens. He had once been happy to play with him, racing toy cars around, or setting up train sets. But as his son got older, it felt as if he he was no longer able to communicate, unsure what to say. And dad had started to sleep in the spare room too. It was never mentioned, but with mum out most nights at various sports clubs, or spending hours running on her own, Roland longed for the nights he could stay over at Finn’s.

His mum was warm and friendly, and their home life felt happy and secure. Even though his dad was so much older, Mr Mellor was good fun. He loved to talk to the boys about cars, and would join in with the video games, or let them watch lots of repeats of Top Gear, laughing along with them. He was close to Finn in a way that Roland had never known with his own father.

There were many times when he wished he had been Finn’s brother, and lived there too.

By the time both boys had turned thirteen, only sixteen days apart, they spent most of their time talking about sex. Finn had no parental controls on his laptop, so could look at anything he wanted, whilst pretending to do school work. Mrs Mellor gave him that freedom. She wanted him to explore everything, and make up his own mind about life, with no preconceptions based on society and censorship. Finn told him what she had said when he got the new laptop. “No, there won’t be any codes, or parental controls. I know what you will look at, and you will do that somewhere, if not here. It is natural, and part of growing up. I would sooner you discover all that stuff in the comfort of your own room, rather than sneaking around with older boys, or spending all your time trying to hack the controls. Just don’t become obsessed with it. It’s not real life, as you will learn one day”. Finn had blushed as he thanked his mum. When he told Roland what she had said, all he could reply was, “Wow, I wish my mum was like yours”.

They had soon tired of constantly surfing hundreds of porn websites. Mrs Mellor had been right. It didn’t feel real. Instead, they became fixated on some of the local girls, mostly the older sisters of some of their school friends. When they had exhausted that, they began to confess to the attractions about each other’s mums. At first they laughed about that, then came to accept it. The reasoning behind it was solid enough. Mums were used to sons. They walked around in their underwear at home, didn’t bother about how they sat on the sofa, or sprawled in a chair. Changed their clothes in front of you without thinking, and even had a pee on the toilet, without closing the door. But when it was your mum, you thought nothing of it. You might have been looking in their direction, but you saw nothing unusual.

Then when your friends started to come round, and stay over, your mum got used to them too, and started to act in that same careless fashion. They forgot that those boys, hormones raging in their early teens, were not their sons. To them, you were an older attractive woman, and your casual habits were driving them to distraction, taking the accustomed frustration to a level never previously experienced.

After a long pause for thought, Roland and Finn continued the conversation they had started, sitting under the apple tree in the Mellor’s garden. Finn had considered what had been said, and was ready with an answer. “Your mum looks skinny and old to you, I see that. But my mum looks chubby and tired to me. I think your mum looks really good. She’s athletic, I like that”. Roland was equally ready with his reply. “But your mum is so curvy, and I love her hair. Remember that time you had the barbecue, and she wore a bikini? Wow! She looked so hot”. His friend smiled at the memory. “Yeah, her boobs were almost hanging out, and you were in a right state”.

The boys laughed, and then Roland asked a serious question, a frown contorting his features. “Why do you think they do that though? You know, mums. Why don’t they care that we are looking, when we are not their son?”

Finn thought for a while. “I think they just forget they are sexy”.

This is the first part of a fiction serial, in 1130 words.

I had thought I would give us all a break from my fiction serials. But I worked on this old idea last night, and decided to begin posting it this week after all.
It is something different from me.

*Some adult content later, and potential triggers.*

Roxanne.

Roxanne was going to try to do her make up for the second time. The floods of tears had ruined her first attempt, so she had cleaned it all off. Staring at her unadorned face in the mirror, eyes red and puffy, she had to wonder where all those years had gone. But there was little time to reflect this morning. The cars would be here soon, and there were people waiting quietly downstairs, their muffled muttering drifting up from the room below. She sniffed loudly, and reached for the foundation.

The teenage Roxanne McCarthy had been something of a catch. Her straw-coloured bob made her stand out from the crowd, and her curves caught the eye of all the young men of her acquaintance. Not for her the painfully-thin, dress-hanger look adopted by her peer group. She didn’t binge-eat, diet, or allow herself to approach the borders of anorexia. Instead, she embraced the body that had developed in her early teens, and walked through life with an unusual confidence for her age. The boys came to her and then went again, especially those she liked the most. It seemed there was something missing in her, the ability to give herself totally to any relationship. But it never really concerned her. The time would come, she was sure of that.

Anthony Mellor was older. A family friend, successful enough, with a small but respected car sales business that he had inherited. He was not much younger than Roxanne’s own father, so when he had asked her out on a date, eyebrows had been raised. She was barely twenty-one, and he was over forty. Her parents counselled her against forming a relationship with their friend. It seemed strange to them, to think of their daughter with that older man. But of course, that universal disapproval made the prospect all the more attractive, and Anthony’s easy manner and overwhelming confidence had seduced her rapidly. It certainly hadn’t been his physique or good looks, as he was lacking in both.

Her close friends had thought she was crazy. Fair enough, he had a reasonably nice house, a steady income, and had never been married. He came with no baggage. But really? She could do so much better. So much. When the date of the wedding was announced, Roxanne’s parents had wearily accepted the inevitable. No point trying to talk her out of the unequal match, as that would just make their daughter all the more determined to go through with it. They settled for a modest wedding, at a nice local hotel. Many of those invited came up with reasons why they couldn’t make it. Rather than tell the truth, which was that they disapproved strongly enough not to actually show up. As she finished getting ready on the morning of the ceremony, her paternal grandmother, Granny Margaret, came up to Roxanne’s room, and asked to speak with her in private.

“I am not going to say much, my darling. Just this. Remember the old saying, and take heed of it. Change your name, but not the letter, a change for worse, not for better”. She squeezed Roxanne’s hand, and went back downstairs. That had made her smile. An expression she had never heard. Something ancient, most definitely. But she had to concede that she had never thought of it. Her initials had always been RM, and after the wedding today, they still would be. She put the thought from her mind, as the photographer knocked on the door of her room.

The honeymoon was equally modest. Four lovely nights in Paris, a city that Anthony knew well, and delighted his new young wife. He had to get back to his business of course, but those few days had been as wonderful as she had hoped.

Settling into married life was easier than she had feared. Despite doing well at college, Roxanne had no idea what to pursue as a career. So a temporary job at the local Estate Agent had turned into a full time one, and she returned to her role straight after the wedding. She did well in that field, enjoying her job of valuing houses, like being paid to snoop around somebody’s home, with their permission. The buyers seemed to take to her too, and when she arranged a viewing, they always showed up. The boss decided she should become a mortgage arranger, which was a step up for her. After taking some courses, and a strangely nerve-wracking exam, she passed all the financial knowledge requirements, and became established as a valued member of staff. The next few years were settled, and it seemed that even her parents had got used to them being together.

Then she got pregnant. Just one night, a few drinks at the house of some friends, and a hurried moment when they got back, with Anthony not bothering to use a condom. He was very pleased, and boasted that he must be incredibly fertile. The news also mellowed her mother, who immediately prepared for the arrival of a grandchild, even though her daughter was only three months gone.

The weeks went by quickly, and when the scan showed it would be a boy, she immediately decided on the name Finn. Anthony was upset, as he had dreams of giving their son his name, to carry on the tradition in his family. But he couldn’t deny Roxanne anything, so agreed. Finn it would be. It was a mercifully routine labour, and Finn appeared on the scheduled day, weighing just under seven pounds. As soon as the midwife passed him into her arms, Roxanne was overwhelmed by a deep emotion, a love that would never end. Her perfect, healthy baby was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life. She whispered into the tiny ear. “I will be a great mother. I promise you”. And as it turned out, she was.

Determined not to raise a spoiled child, she took great care to do the right thing by him. To love him unreservedly, but not to smother him. He had to be allowed to have a life, his own life. He should play outside, take risks, eat healthily, and have an active, inquiring mind. Anthony had some of his own ideas, including a private school later on, and perhaps even use a child-minder in the meantime. But Roxanne would have none of it. She would stay off work until he went to school, bring him up herself, and properly. She resigned from her job following maternity leave, and her boss said she could come back anytime. There would always be a place for her.

Roxanne set about raising young Finn the right way.

And she loved every minute of it.