Short Stories by H A Howe by H A Howe - Read Online

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Short Stories - H A Howe

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About the Author

H A Howe lives in Surrey, England. She is married and has two children, both currently at university. Whilst raising a family, she started writing lyrics, and many of her songs have now been published in 29 countries. She has subsequently written a historical play which was translated into French and German and the performance rights have been licensed for production in three countries. She is now publishing her first short story collection and is already working on a new play and a second collection of short stories.


Neat as a knitting pattern; dark as a closed coffin I think captures Howe's special style.

Mike Hodges Writer/Director: Get Carter, Flash Gordon

I wasn't surprised to hear that the author HA Howe was also a lyricist because a lyric writer's job is to eliminate the unnecessary, to never meander, be as economic as possible and illuminate character. In her first book, Short Stories, this is exactly what she does so effectively. I must start listening to her songs.

Don Black OBE, Lyricist & Oscar Winner (Diamonds Are Forever, Man With the Golden Gun, Born Free, numerous musicals & films)

HA Howe's chief asset is a capacity to draw the reader in to the tales, making the reader eager to know what happens next...

Herbert Kretzmer OBE, Journalist, Lyricist (wrote the words to the musical Les Miserables, the song She and many others)

A Quote:

Let our lives be open books for all to study.

Mahatma Gandhi


When he heard the familiar sound of his parents arguing, Charlie temporarily abandoned his intention to get a glass of milk and instead sat down on the top stair, listening, waiting until all was quiet again before venturing downstairs and pretending that he hadn’t heard anything. These disagreements were usually about money and Charlie had become so immune to them that more often than not he listened without hearing any of it. He simply daydreamed to the steady hissing noise that was coming from below, sometimes in a muffled tenor, ‘You are what you are, not what you want to be’, then again a smooth mezzo soprano, ‘You once told me I could be anything I wanted to be’, until nothing registered except high/low, high/low.

Matt and Sally seemed to disagree on everything these days and they ended up arguing every time they were in the same room together, unless Charlie was present, in which case Sally would hold her tongue and play ‘happy family’. She had sat through dinner, smiling and nodding at Matt pontificating about what an important man he was and how, in his former job, the whole company relied on him, ‘You see Charlie, that’s why your dad was paid a top salary’, he had pompously announced, accompanied by a self-satisfied wink in Charlie’s direction. For Charlie’s sake, Sally was willing to endure Matt’s self-aggrandisement because she felt it was important that a son should look up to his father. She did however, store it all up for later, once Charlie had gone to his room. ‘So, Mister Bigshot, it’s Charlie’s school trip at the end of the month and we haven’t paid yet’. The subject of money alone was sure to create an argument, the way she brought it up didn’t help. Matt hated sarcasm because he himself had never quite mastered it, ‘Why doesn’t it sink in’, he basically spat at her furiously, ‘We can’t afford it, full stop … unless, of course, you bloody well go and earn some money quickly!’ ‘But surely someone as important as you are ...’ , she started to reply in a honey voice, knowing full well that it would make things worse. But when she saw Matt’s half raised hand accompanied by a trembling, ‘I swear to God, Sally’, she decided to change course. Not that she was scared of Matt in the slightest, it was just that Charlie’s school trip was her priority right now. ‘Ok Matt’, she said in a pleading, matter of fact tone, ‘Let’s not make this about us. Charlie should be our only consideration here and …’ Matt, unable to share her sentiment, interrupted angrily, ‘It’s the money, for fuck’s sake Sally, we have to consider, not Charlie. We don’t have £ 200 to spare! I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with you!’ Sally was very much aware that money was running out fast but she also knew that they could still afford to pay for their son’s school trip as long as they were prepared to cut down on other expenses. Unlike Matt, she was willing to sacrifice anything, financially or otherwise, to see her son happy. And so she chose to ignore Matt’s objection and to suppress her own anger, ‘He is so looking forward to it. All his pals are going’. But Matt wasn’t going to have any of it. ‘I don’t care’, he shouted. He has to get over it ... and so will you! Don’t you think it’s time to tell him the truth?’

‘No, I don’t’, she shouted. ‘He is so young, we can’t burden him with our problems. He is the only positive thing in my life right now and I need him to be happy.’ Without another word, although his whole body was shaking with anger, Matt took out his chequebook and, remaining standing, wrote out a cheque for £200. He then looked at his wife and declared in a vibrating voice, ‘And that’s it, Sally … do it your way, but without me … I can’t take this anymore … I just can’t.’ Then, his hand already on the door knob, he added whilst pointing vigorously upstairs, ‘I will not spend another penny indulging him!’

Charlie heard the front door open and shut and by the silence that followed he knew it would be alright to get his milk now. What Charlie didn’t know was that he would never see his father again.

* * *

When his father still hadn’t returned after a couple of days, Charlie eventually decided to ask his mother about it. ‘He is away on business, darling’, came the pathetic lie which, as always, he pretended to believe. ‘Will he be away long?’ he asked whilst thinking, ‘For somebody who is unemployed, he has rather a lot of business trips’. Charlie was ten years old but had been aware of his parents’ deteriorating relationship and their financial fiasco for the past two years, during which time he had become accustomed to the situation, not least due to the heated arguments which had become more frequent lately. But he would never forget the first time he realised that his parents were in financial difficulties. He was so worried when, two years ago, he heard his father say they had fallen behind with mortgage payments and were now forced to sell their house to pay off the debts, and that they had to move somewhere a lot smaller and he wasn’t even sure if they could afford anything at all. At the time, Charlie didn’t know anything about mortgages and debts, even now, whilst the terms are familiar, he still doesn’t understand their concept but what he did grasp then, aged eight, was that he would be losing his home and that thought terrified and haunted him for several days. Unable to sleep without being woken by the sheer terror of nightmares which had him sleeping on park benches surrounded by hungry wolves or in deserted cemeteries fighting off vampires, he finally decided to approach his mother. She just laughed and told him he’d got it all wrong, his father had been talking about one of his colleagues. She assured him that they were as well off as ever and were even planning an exotic holiday in the summer. Whether she did it to protect him because she realised how worried he was or whether her reaction was triggered to save herself the embarrassment did not matter to him at the time. Deep down, had he allowed himself to think realistically, he would have known even then at his tender age that she was lying. But he was not ready to cope with the truth and gratefully accepted her stories. Over time, he carried on pretending to believe her lies but not so much anymore because he didn’t want to face the truth, no, it was more to please her because he had noticed how happy it made her to think that he was oblivious to what was really going on. And so he let her think that he believed that his father had to spend at least a year abroad to set up a branch for the company he worked for, and that it didn’t make any sense to live in such a big house whilst there were just the two of them, but that the moment his father returned they would move back into a bigger house again. It has to be said, Sally tried very hard to be convincing and never just offered him a blunt statement. She would engage him in long conversations, encourage him to think he was part of the decision making – whether it was better to sell their house or let it and when the best time would be to visit his dad abroad. She had of course, as little say in the matter as he did but the pretence of it seemed to cheer her up, as did the bottle of wine that usually accompanied these discussions.

* * *

After a while, Charlie’s father was not mentioned anymore and Charlie and Sally carried on, in their little one bedroom flat, to lie to each other in the firm belief that they were helping the other one by doing so. But Sally did not notice that, as Charlie grew into a teenager, it became increasingly more difficult for him to keep up the charade and to accept their situation without questioning the banality of hiding from the dreary facts of their abysmal life.

Sally adored Charlie. To see him happy was her only goal in life, and she was prepared to do anything to achieve it. She never realised that Charlie’s display of happiness was a façade and reflected quite the opposite to how he really felt. When he was fourteen, puberty was intensifying the emotional impact his miserable life had on him. At home he pretended that he was happy, at school he pretended to have a normal home life. When other kids talked about the delicious dinners they had, he was too embarrassed to admit that very often he went to sleep on a few slices of bread and butter because his mother had been too drunk to cook. And when she did prepare dinner, which happened occasionally, her culinary efforts were limited. Even