My writing journey + short story: Aldgate

Picture: Sunil060902

Oh no, another blog by moi! I am not new to blogging, if you click my profile you will see that I started in 2005 and I have more than a handful of blogs now (excluding clients' blogs of course). Oh no, another ex journo's blog! Well, I am in marketing now and have used my writing skills to earn a living since 1994. My edge is that English is not my native language but it has become my everyday language following my move to London in 1994. At the time I wanted to become a journalist because (believe it or not) it was easier to make a living as a journalist than as a fiction writer. It is still true but it's not as easy to get into journalism now, unless you write for a niche market - not that it was easy peasy with my strong foreign accent in the days prior to the internet when 'all business' was done over the phone... but hey I got there in the end. But back to writing, why this blog now after all these years? Well, I am applying for a studentship in creative writing and I had to compile a 'creative writing' CV. Also, I have been feeling like resuming my fiction writing after a horrible year when I was plagued by tennis elbow and I had to limit my computer use to keep working. So here is a short version of that CV and after that, one of my short stories, not a new one but I would love to complete the short story collection it belongs to and create a companion one for Cambridge if I can. If you don't care a fig for that, scroll down to my short story called Aldgate.

UK – language: English

2009 to date: Blogging – six blogs (see www.simonecastello.co.uk for links)

2011 to date: World Book Night Volunteer

2015 Milton Road Library – storyteller (improvisation/re-telling/updating of Aesop fables)

2015 Career Fairs in schools (How to get into journalism/marketing)

2014-2015 Sunday Scribes - Cambridge Library Writers’ Group 

2014 Drama workshop at the Faculty of English (CU). I loosely scripted and improvised a short play with a group

2011 Panelist – The Guardian – How to Become a FreelanceWriter 

2008-2014 Authonomy (HarperCollins’ writers’ e-community) Uploaded fiction, critiqued fiction and was an active member of discussion forums

2004-2008 Forest Writers, London E17, committee member of writers’ group: group reading and public performances

2003-2008 E17 Arts Club: committee member: organised cinema night and poetry workshop while helping at other meetings, exhibited art work at the Changing Room Gallery

2002 Submitted a screenplay to BBC Writers’ Room

1999-2005 Reader of short story slush pile at Take a Break Magazine; editing short stories at Best Magazine

1998-2000 Researched my novel on alchemy at the British Library

1997-1999 Archivist and committee member of Women in Publishing, London (organised meetings and some did public speaking). Was a member again in early 2000s. Wrote a chapter for the book Women in Publishing: the Second Decade.

1995-2001 Ferne Arfin’s Writers’ Group – small writers’ group in London consisting of publishing professionals

1994-1995 Book reviewer of the Babel Guide to the Fiction of France in Translation and the Babel Guide to the fiction of Germany in Translation. 

Italy – language: Italian

Finalist in various writing competitions with my short stories and the short story collection (certificates, Honorary Mentions, plaques, etc)

1989 Published poem in poetry magazine

1988 Published book of short stories called ‘Racconti’, presented at Teatro Alfieri in Asti as part of festival of young writers

The Circle Lives Project: A collection of short stories bearing the names of Circle Line stations. Here is Aldgate.

Aldgate: The (e)state I am in

The day I decided to leave home, Mum was standing by the door in her nightie shouting, "Bring back my drink" to my stepdad, who was walking away, the neck of a bottle sticking out of his coat pocket. My half-brother Kevin, who was holding onto Mum's nightie, started to cry and got a wallop for all his trouble.

I ducked out of Mum's sight and packed my things in the big, stripy plastic bag she used to carry dirty clothes to the laundrette. I could hear her scouring the kitchen cupboards for a drink, with Kevin snivelling in the background.

I was nearly finished when I heard Mum rummaging in her bedroom and her angry screams and swearing when she found her purse. Before she could suspect it was me who had taken the money, I zipped the bag and ran out of the flat. My mate Sue was waiting for me in her car, the motor on like it were a robbery getaway.

"Ready, mate? Is it all you’ve got?" Sue asked pointing at my bag.

"Not much to show for eighteen years, isn't it?"

Sue stepped on the accelerator and the car jerked forward. "Here we go, here we go," she chanted.

"You're not sorry to see me going, are you?"

"Not a flippin' chance," she replied grinning. "Anyway, it was bloody time you left this dump."

"I'll miss you."

"Don't be daft, we'll see each other soon. I'll work on my man to take me to London shopping."

When Sue pulled near the station, I felt tearful. "I need a fag," said Sue gruffly and started rummaging in her bag.

She felt tearful, too, but she didn't want to show it. "Thanks," I blurted and walked away. By the automatic doors, I turned and waved. Sue waved back, one hand on the wheel.

Suddenly I was on my own, waiting for the train. On the platform everybody seemed to be doing something - reading, making calls or having serious conversations with their neighbours while I stood, the stripy bag in between my legs and anxiety growing inside me.

On the train I took out Caroline's Christmas card from the bag and checked her address against a map of London I had borrowed from the library. At first I couldn't find the street and then I was disappointed that she didn't live near Oxford Street, the street they always showed in the news with the fancy Christmas lights.

When the train left the suburbs and the green of the countryside filled my window, my stomach lurched. I started to worry that Caroline might not live at that address anymore, that I'd get lost and end up homeless on the pavement, at the mercy of strangers... Then I imagined an angry Caroline, asking me how I could have left Kevin with mum and felt even worse.

I fell asleep several times, waking up at intervals when the train was pulling up at a station or when passengers walked by my seat talking to each other. I'd check the luggage rack to see if my bag was still there, even if I knew that nobody could be tempted to steal such a nasty looking bag.

When the train reached Kings Cross, I got off and asked the man inside the information kiosk what was the nearest station to Caroline's address.

"Aldgate, love," he barked in a metallic voice. He saw my confusion and pointed at an underground map with a stubby finger. "There, see?"

I followed the signs towards the underground and bought my ticket from a machine. I stepped through the gate and my bag got stuck. Behind me a woman wearing a smart suit gave me a dirty look. A station attendant asked me to see my ticket, then helped me to free the bag. I was so annoyed with the heavy, nasty thing that I kicked it angrily down the stairs. I didn’t care if people thought I was a weirdo.

In the crowded carriage, my bag got in people's way. I looked at the faces surrounding me. Everybody looked grim, unfriendly if not hostile. I started to feel nervous again. What if Caroline didn't welcome my arrival and I had to go back to Mum’s?

Fear gripped my stomach. I had never considered I might have to go back. Mum would be furious and my stepdad would kick me out. He'd never liked me. Since he had moved in with Mum I've always felt like an intruder. When I got my O' levels, he convinced Mum I needed no more schooling and found me a part-time job at the corner store so I could look after Kevin when I wasn’t working. He knew I wanted to continue studying, my teachers had even offered to help me apply for a scholarship.

At Aldgate East I got off, dragging the bag. I stepped outside and I was disappointed to see ugly buildings, rubbish littering the pavement, battered cars parked by the kerb and people with hard faces, like the ones at our estate. Neglect and lack of money surrounded me again. Maybe Caroline had been lying in her letters to mum. Mum kept boasting to people her Caroline had done well.

I went into a newsagent and asked the woman behind the counter if she could point me in the right direction, but she made me buy a bar of chocolate before volunteering any information.

I got off the main road and walked through narrow, dirty streets where estates, industrial buildings and crumbling old houses stood flanked by scraggy trees. Here and there a building had been done up and stood out like a healthy tooth in a decayed mouth.

I asked a man who was walking his dog if I was going in the right direction and he stopped to point the way in the map. His kindness made me feel more hopeful and I patted the dog's head as a thankyou.

I walked down Caroline's street and stopped in front of a large box-shaped building with large windows whose frames had been painted in bright colours. It looked like a warehouse, but I was relieved to find Caroline's name on one of the bells.

A male voice shouted through the intercom: "Who is it?"

I clutched my bag tight and replied: "It's Caroline's sister."

There was a buzz and the door opened. I climbed the stairs checking every door, breathless, the bag weighing more and more at each flight. On the landing of the top floor a door was ajar. I went in dragging the bag behind me.

A man wearing a pair of shorts, with tousled hair and a sleepy face was staring at me, looking less than pleased. He took my bag and led the way to the spare room.

"Caroline said you'd turn up sooner or later. I'm Stewart, make yourself at home. I'm going back to bed. I do the graveyard slot at the moment."

I stared wondering what he meant and he explained he worked nights at a newspaper.

I unpacked my things and hung my clothes in the small wardrobe. I folded the plastic bag and hid it under the bed.

As I was exploring the flat, I noticed there was not a fitted carpet in sight, all worn floorboards and bare walls that looked unfinished. There wasn't much furniture either and lots of empty space made the high-ceilinged rooms look even bigger. It was so different from Mum’s cluttered council flat.

Everything was old, used. Back home we all believed old things were junk, but they didn’t look too bad in Caroline’s flat, they had their own style, I remember seen it once in a magazine, the distressed look. I compared Caroline’s flat to Sue's: IKEA furniture in bright colours and fitted cream carpets - all gifts from her married boyfriend.

"I'm not clever like you," she'd said before she had left the estate. "This is my chance, I don't give a shit if he's married or what."

"He has no kids, hasn't he?"

"No, I'm no family breaker," Sue had said proudly. "Anyway, I'm out of here, that's it and if somebody doesn't like it..."

"Good luck," I had said, trying to be supportive.

I knew that the busybodies were discussing Sue's fallen woman status with anybody who'd listen. I also knew that despite her hard front, Sue was afraid. She had left without qualifications to work as an attendant in the laundrette and her future could only bring more underpaid work or, if she got married and had kids, a constant struggle to make ends meet.

What Sue and I always had in common was our certainty that we would not fit the mould created by our parents. All we needed was an escape route. Not for us were dreams of winning the pools or receiving an unexpected inheritance from an uncle who had emigrated to Australia and made a fortune in sheep farming. While Sue counted on her good looks, I had faith in education. So when my stepdad's intervention had taken care of that, I knew I had to leave.

I went into the kitchen and made myself two slices of toast and a cup of tea. A twinge of guilt attacked me while I was chewing the buttered bread. Would Mum remember to give Kevin lunch? If she had found somebody willing to lend her any money she would be drunk by now. I could see her sprawled on the bed, the clothes in a mess while Kevin was tugging at her sleeve, trying to rouse her. On the other hand, if she weren't drunk, she would be in no mood to prepare lunch for a snivelling child.

Without me around, things would have to change. My stepdad would have to find somebody else to look after Kevin and watch mum. I remembered the last words my English teacher had told me when I had announced his decision: "Don't give up on your goals, remember that you're responsible for yourself, too."

What stopped me from leaving there and then was guilt. Surely, wasn't I responsible for my family, for little Kevin, for my mum who needed help?

"I feel morally responsible to stay," I had explained to Sue when she had asked me about my plans.

"Rubbish," she’d replied, stroking the white leather of her brand new settee. "You don't owe them a bloody thing, get out when you still can."

I switched on the telly. Caroline had Cable TV and I happily zapped through the channels for the rest of the afternoon. At six o'clock Stewart emerged from the bedroom and said he'd have a shower and then made some dinner.

"So, what are your plans?" Stewart asked while opening a can of baked beans.

"I want to get my A levels, then go to university."

"Caro will be happy to hear that. She told me you were doing really well at school and you were upset when you had to leave."

"Well, I couldn't choose. But now I want to make up for the time I've missed."

"I don't want to discourage you, but you have some tough times ahead. But if you're made of the same stuff as your sister, you'll make it. Fancy a jacket potato with cheese and beans?"

While I ate my potato, I wondered what was happening back home. My stepdad would have come back and found out I'd run away. I knew he couldn't make me go back, I was eighteen after all, but I was afraid he could call or cause some unpleasantness to Caroline. She certainly didn't deserve more aggravation.

At seven, the door clicked open and Stewart called: "Caro, is it you?"

"Who else?" Caroline replied and walked in the kitchen. She stood on the doorway and stared at me.

"Hi," I said and burst into tears.

Caroline held me tight, patting my shoulder.

"I'll leave you to it, got to go," said Stewart.

When I dried my eyes, Caroline smiled and said: "You've grown."

My sister had changed, too. She had dyed her hair bright red and she wore clothes I'd only seen in magazines but never on real people. Her white shirt had long, large sleeves which hid most of her hands and was covered in embroidery. Her trousers had colourful patches and fringes. She looked beautiful in an exotic way, so different from the serious young woman who had left home to go to university.

"Mum's still drinking?" She asked.

"Yes, she's getting worse. We owe money to everybody, Mum talks on her mobile all day. Most of the giro money goes to pay her phone bills and her cigarettes."

"What about Rob?"

"He's useless, he goes to the betting shop most days and only takes on painting jobs when there's no money."

Caroline shifted on the stool, then asked: "Kevin's all right?"

"Sort of. Last week social services came to see Mum about him again. They wanted to put him on a register or something like that. Mum went hopping mad and showed them the door."

Caroline frowned, then sighed. "Still planning to go to university?"

"First I need to take my A levels. I won't be a dead weight, I promise. I can go to evening classes and work during the day. When I've saved enough I'll find a room somewhere. I don't want to be in the way."

"It's too late to worry about that," said Caroline and smiled.

Caroline made me call Mum to tell her where I was. Mum was so angry she cut me off. Caroline called her back and had to endure more abuse. "Mum says not to expect your room back if things don't work out."

"Seems like you're stuck with me, then," I joked. "Did she mention Kevin?"

"No, but she'll have to face the music now that you're not there to keep house for her, won't she?"

"It's really unfair, he's only a kid. And he hasn't a big sister to look out for him."

Caroline hugged me. "There isn’t any more you can do, you’re not his mum."

We spent the evening fixing up the spare room. Caroline moved a table by the window, so I could use it as a desk. "You can use my computer to do your homework. Have you decided which subjects you're going to take?"

"English language, Maths and Geography. I'm not sure what I'm going to do next, but they should give me enough scope."

"And keep you quite busy, if you want to work your way. Incidentally, at work there’s a part-time job going in the postroom. An email went around."

"That would be great, thank you. I was so scared things wouldn't work out and I'd have to return home."

"I think it was easier for me because of the grant. Now they call it a student loan and you've got to pay it back."

"But was it easy to leave home?"

"I didn't get on with Mum and I thought you were old enough to cope. I was quite selfish, I just wanted to get out."

"I was so angry with you for leaving me behind. Deep down I knew I was angry with Mum because she wasn't a good parent. So when she married Rob and got pregnant, I thought things would change for the better."

"But they didn't, did they?"

"No, it got worse. When social services started to make threats to put Kevin into care, I had to leave school. My teachers were ready to help me, but Rob refused on my behalf. I felt used."

We had a cup of tea and talked some more. Caroline told me stories of her student days. I realised I was very like my sister in some things and totally different in others, but we shared ambition and determination. I envied her independence and her unruffled confidence. I felt bad about leaving my step brother behind.

"Let's go to bed, it's past midnight and I have an early start. I'll ask about that job and let you know."

"Thanks."

"Good night, sleep well," Caroline said, sounding very much like mum when she wasn’t drunk.