Neil Randall is delighted to announce that his new short story The Proposal has just been published by literary journal Literary Yard. The tale of a twisted relationship between a mother and son, it has echoes of Kafka's Amerika and the way in which people will go to extreme lengths to avoid any change or upheaval in their lives.
The Proposal is included in Randall's latest short story collection A Fancy Dress Party at a Russian Lunatic Asylum.
Here's the opening scene:
Over the last few weeks
Luka had been having the strangest dreams about Arthur, his mother Darjia’s
fiancé. In one dream, Arthur had gone off to fight in the war in Ukraine. In
another, he was killed in a car accident. Then there was the dream where Arthur
was an evil character in one of Luka’s computer games.
When Darija mentioned this to her
therapist, she didn’t seem particularly alarmed.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s just
symbolic of the changes that’ve taken place ever since you introduced Arthur
into Luka’s life.”
“I understand that. I’m just a bit
concerned that Arthur always dies or gets hurt in these dreams. I’d hate for
Luka to be unconsciously wishing that he was no longer around.”
“Dreams can mean a lot of different things
– often not what you’d readily interpret. From what you’ve told me, Luka has
accepted the situation in a mature and responsive way. I wouldn’t be looking
for problems where there aren’t any.”
Regardless,
Darija wanted to find out if something was troubling her son.
“Why don’t you take him to that new aqua
park for the weekend?” Arthur suggested. “In a more relaxed environment, it might
be easier to talk about things.”
“Yeah. Great idea. He’ll absolutely love
it there.”
When they arrived on the Friday evening,
they dropped their bags off at the hotel and decided to go and have a meal at a
nearby restaurant. Darija had googled the small town and found a nice-looking
Italian place that served excellent food at reasonable prices.
Having not booked in advance, they were
lucky to get a small table tucked away in a corner at the back of the packed
establishment, right next to a swarthy-looking foreigner, a tanned, handsome
man with hair greying at the sides, who was savouring an espresso and smoking a
cigarette.
“Good evening, signora and signore,” he
said to them in English. “Do not worry. I will be leaving soon. You can spread
out your things and not be crammed in like sardines, no.”
He smiled good-naturedly, pulled a funny
face, and hunched his shoulders, imitating the small fish encased in a tin. All
of which reduced Luka to a fit of laughter.
“Thank you,” said Darija. “That’s very
kind.”
“Not at all.” He scrunched out his
cigarette into the ashtray and signalled to the waiter. “Enjoy your meal. If
you want one tip. The cannelloni and crème brûlée are to die for here. And that
is coming from an Italian.”
Once the kindly stranger had gone, Luka
insisted that they take his advice.
“After all, it’s not every day that you
get tips from a genuine Italian about food in an Italian restaurant.”
“Why not,” said Darija. “You can have
whatever you want.”
Next day at the aqua park, they rented
two loungers right in front of the main pool, changed into their bathing suits,
and went off to explore the complex. Luka was in his element, so excited he
literally hopped from one foot to the other as he saw the different slides on
offer. Grabbing giant inflatables, they waited patiently in line (or not so patiently
in Luka’s case), before jettisoning themselves down one slide after another,
Luka at the front and Darija hanging on for dear life at the rear. It was so
much fun, being spun around and pitched and tossed into a pool of water at the
end. Luka couldn’t stop giggling and clapping his hands. It’d been years since
she’d seen him so happy and carefree.
“No more for me,” panted Darija. “I must
rest for a little while now. Why don’t you go and have a swim? We can get a
bite to eat in an hour or so. Okay?”
“Yes, but rest well,” he said over his
shoulder as he dashed off into the water. “We have many more slides to try
later.”
Darija went back to their sun-loungers,
stretched out and relaxed. It felt good to be out of the city for a change,
away from the bad air, constant traffic, and daily work grind. More
importantly, she knew this was likely to be the last time she and Luka would go
away on their own ever again. And she told herself to enjoy every moment. In a
few months, after she married Arthur, they’d take holidays together, the three
of them, and everything would be different.
As she mulled this over in her mind, she
was aware of a presence blocking out the light. Opening her eyes, she saw the
same man they’d met at the restaurant last night, the Italian, looking down at
her with a disarmingly effusive smile on his face. His lean, tanned body was
dripping with water, he wore a pair of brilliant-white trunks, and a had a
towel wedged under his arm.
“We meet again.”
If you'd like to purchase A Fancy Dress Party at a Russian Lunatic Asylum, follow this link.
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