Free Campari for Breakfast by Sara Crowe Page A

displeasure at the way Loudolle had swalked into our session. Though curiously, even though Icarus was as handsome as I’d known him, I thought that Loudolle had drawn the short straw. It gave me an awful relief in finding a little fault with him.
    As we set about our wordplay there was a terrible amount of tension in the room. Delia obviously had issue with Aunt Coral for giving Loudolle such a difficult task and there were unspoken opinions between them. Loudolle was giving me bad eyes too and kept on stroking Icarus’s knee under the table. The only ones not engaged in silent squabbles were the Admiral and Joe, who were both quietly getting on with their poems. The Admiral’s hands were stained green with ivy, and he was sweating. Aunt Coral sat in the window, with all the blossoms outside now just in vision after the Admiral’s ivy cutbacks.
    The poetry exercise did not turn out to be a success as neither Icarus nor Loudolle could manage it. Although I wasn’t very happy with mine, I read it out aloud for the group.
The lavender steals against your gown so delicious,
But even so, I know, you are my nemecyst.
    ‘You can’t say “nemecyst”’, said Loudolle, ‘the word is “nemesis”’.
    ‘But I mean “nemecyst”, which is a cross between “nemesis”, meaning “adversary”, and “cyst”, meaning “bag bursting with poisons”,’ I said. ‘“Nemecyst”. I feel it adds meaning to the word. Not only an adversary, but an adversary bursting with poisons.’
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Loudolle, ‘it makes it into complete nonsense.’
    ‘I think Sue’s right.’ Joe tried to intervene. ‘It adds depth to the existing meaning, it sort of . . . Sue-ifys it.’
    ‘Sue-ifys it?’ said Loudolle. ‘Is that a new word as well?’
    Joe hesitated to respond, he was a little out of his depth with such a rattlesnake. I was overwhelmed – it was valiant of him to stick up for me.
    ‘Well, it’s my choice of word, and I’m happy for it to be . . . Sue-ified,’ he said.
    Aunt Coral clapped her hands together to distract us like a geography teacher. The two visiting members obviously weren’t up to it, so she turned us to other things with great largeness.
    ‘This looks like a good moment to tell you that we have a long-term plan. I have entered the Egham Hirsute Group into a short story competition, which will be judged at the Ramblers’ Association Gala in December.’ There was an excited smatter of applause as she beamed out at us. ‘Members are to enter individually, but there will also be group prizes, plus an overall individual winner and serious prize money. Entries are to be no more than six thousand words and are to begin with the phrase: “He, or She, awoke.” All newcomers to EHG are of course welcome to enter, but this would involve a full commitment to the process.’
    When she finished explaining the rules she sat down and sipped on her Sapphire. ‘I think we should call it a night.’
    Though she had cut the group short, I trusted Aunt Coral’s instincts. Loudolle was causing ructions, Delia wasn’t looking too happy and the Admiral needed a bath. All these things block creativity.
    ‘Can I just read you my poem?’ asked Joe, as I was showing him out after Group. I agreed, so we stepped back into the conservatory. He was so nervous he caught his shoe briefly on his turn-up.
    ‘“I had rather sit with you on a knarl of oak, with only the leaves for confetti, than with the princess of all America upon her shimmering throne.”’
    ‘That’s beautiful, Joe,’ I said. But in truth, I felt somewhat embarrassed.
    Here is the beginning of my entry for the Gala. I have chosen the seventeenth century as a setting because it is my personal favourite:
    Brackencliffe
    A SHORT STORY
By Sue Bowl
She awoke on the course ground, as it sprung back to life beneath the shimmering frost. Calling her Keeper to her, they set off together on foot. High, high she climbed, her skirts full