As for the Chocolate, it shall be yours.

It was raining hard and the radio was being drowned out by the clamour of hard water falling from the skies.

The leaves look confused, for only yesterday it was hot and muggy and now it was an outside cauldron of pelting rain and lightning.

Lorcan looked out of the window and allowed the sound to take him over. He wasn’t a child anymore and the strikes of electricity and roar of Thor would not provoke and call for his body to freeze. He smiled.

His Grandmother, Rubina, the Glaswegian rascal with a heart full of flowers in bloom had told him to ignore the boom and smile.

‘Always smile. If you are inside when the commotion is happening you are lucky: you have shelter. If you are outside, then smile and the lightning will spare you. And… if it hits you, well then you are chosen to catapult into more time.’ He could hear her whispering those words again in his ears with her cheeky ways.

He smiled and his eyes called open little streams.

She had died five years ago and he missed her so much.

He remembered visiting her before she passed on and over and out into the next chapter.

She was always small but the cancer had diminished her stature somewhat more and now she was frail and pale and her voice sounded like a chipmunk named Alvin.

He remembered the scrambled eggs she had made one morning before the visit was nearly over. She could barely stand and yet the plate was a symphony for the tastebuds, all creamy and solid but fluffy and right. He recalled the laughing and her sublime little snigger and those eyes that always had a willingness to provide. Ha! She wanted to cook more; to make a big blackberry crumble and her famous chocolate cake. Oh, that Chocolate cake. The Capital C wasn’t enough to explain its deliciousness. Layers of cocoa the ancients would have prayed to. But pagan with her lineage and the pain set in and there were no drums to sound out the death coming her way and she couldn’t cook but she would make her eightieth birthday anyway and sing in the score of eight great decades. And they said goodbye at the door, Lorcan and his Mother, when the time had come to leave and Robin for Short used the doorway for support and said goodbye and Lorcan knew that hug was the last and he would never see her again. And he loved his Grandma so much.

And on the train.

The waves crashed and split into foamy factions.

As the engine sped up

He knew she would never see this sight of might again.

His younger brother, Joshua, stormed into the kitchen with wellies bequeathed to mud.

‘Freddie the scarecrow is down and his white jeans are ruined!’

Lorcan smiled and wiped the top of his cheeks where sadness and memory had collected.

‘Why would you give a scarecrow white jeans?’

Joshua stared at him and then took off his hat to explain.

‘Apparently Mrs Ewang put out a text for help clothing him and the only thing that came back was a toga and white jeans.’

The weeks raced by and dates and numbers of days changed.

It was Lorcan’s birthday in three days.

A Saxophone Somewhere –

Lorcan watched the boat go by. It was a small container ship of some sort. It was yellow and maroon red. The Thames were rippling with waves that longed to be on the ocean. He was in London for the day and waiting for a friend to dawdle and stroll with.

He felt sad.

The twinge had stayed and now it remained. It had blurred into a strong ache in his stomach and he felt like running away.

He watched a boy eating his pizza without using his cutlery and smiled. The older lady that sat next to him looked like it might be his Grandmother and they were lightly elbowing one another. Lorcan laughed. It looked like great fun.

The lights that hung from lamppost to tree and another lamppost were on but it wasn’t even 5pm.

A saxophone somewhere blasted him out of melancholy with a tune that blew him into sweet memories of Rubina. He caught the memories of her insatiable need and quest for fresh food and the thrill at feeding open mouths and barren bellies. She loved cooking.

He remembered the jazz that was on when she made homemade fish and chips up in the Highlands. The haddock was delivered to the door and the potatoes turned chips were the best ever made. The music made him hungry and his appetite ate his sadness up.

Piano Concerto Number One –

Lorcan would be twenty-four in one day.

He walked past the post office and saw a note stuck up saying –

Violin for sale. Old pro too old to play.

Would love another leash of life. Mobile 07749188825

He smiled.

Looked out on the horizon which was only chimney’s and horrible glass buildings and then summoned a mish mash of memory with the gloss of nostalgia to set the scene.

He was eight.

He played the violin, very well if the truth be told.

He loved holding the wooden magi on his shoulder as his chin stroked it for appreciation. The bow came over the strings and woke him from a concert he never did play so he didn’t bump into the bin.

Why did he give up over peer pressure? He could have played football and the violin! His Grandmother said so – ‘Don’t listen to those eejits. Play the strings and score the goals.’

He got home. Took too long to undo his shoelaces, shoved his shoes away and turned the radio on. Ah the Piano! That was beyond him too.

He started to cry and heard the whisper of his Grandmother say ‘Oh Lorcs. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s very hard to master the keys or the strings. But why did you get led astray by such jealous So and So’s?’

Lorcan laughed to himself.

The woman on the radio said it was a piano concerto number one.

Birthday. It was here. He was officially another day older. A Year? Yes.

He got up early to see his Mother off for work and thanked her for the card, present and pancakes well served.

Then he decided to go outside and water his tomato plants. He called them Plumy and Lancelot. Plumy was the first to go in the soil and Lancelot had leaves that looked like a sword and a shield.

He gave them a good solid can of water from a red plastic sprinkling thing and watched the water play and congratulate the plants for being so damn clever. Go see the bees and then give me that fruit and veg. A marvel. A baby of sweetness.

He felt so easy in the garden. Robin. Rubina.

His dearest Grandmother was probably a white witch of sorts for she spoke with the plants and the tress and had fortnightly meetings with the birds whilst handing out seeds. She was in touch with nature in a way he had lost. He heard a rustle. He was sure it might be the sunflowers singing. Happy Birthday to you. He laughed to himself and noticed a robin perched on the burnt red fence. It was plump and surprisingly still. He watched for a while and then made his way inside for tea and leftover pancakes.

He entered the kitchen and there on the table was a chocolate cake.

He smiled then called up to Joshua. No answer. He ran upstairs. Josh wasn’t in his room. Maybe he had gone to school whilst he was tending to the tomatoes? He explored the first floor and found no sign of him. He ran downstairs. The chocolate cake was still there but there was now a white card with a lightning bolt on it. The card looked like a card Rubina might have made. He froze. His body clenched in and dug out a scared mould of him but he couldn’t run. He was still. Very very still. Then he started to cry. The tears flowed out and he couldn’t stop the mass of tears. He broke down and through and out of old skin.

Then, eventually, he smiled, grabbed a knife from the draw and cut a huge slice of that all inviting chocolate cake and said thank you to the friend in the room who didn’t need a napkin.