The Irish Tales

In camera meeting : March 8th


Present : December, Tuesday


" Which Month was Friday's father ? Why could he not be left alone in ignorance ? How did he become a Day ? And where is Cal ?"
She was relentless, her eyes burning with passion. She had knocked on the door of my suite and marched in without so much as a "Good evening, pretty boy."

Stalling for time, I replied," Which question do you want answered first?"
"Where is Cal ?" she said, without hesitating.
"I don't know," I answered truthfully.
"Which Month was Friday's father ?" she continued.
"It could have been any of them," I responded, equally truthfully.
"How did he become a Day ?" she went on.
"I ...don't know," I lied, lamely.
She paused, regarding me with pure contempt.
"You don't know much, do you?" she taunted.
I stared back at her, unblinking.

"Whereas you seem to know far too much, petal. For a Day."
That stopped her.
She actually blushed, for a moment.

"I...I have connections," she muttered eventually, staring down at her feet, like a guilty schoolgirl.
I felt a vague stirring, as I suddenly realised she was rather, well, attractive.

About five-foot six, slim, blonde hair and a very trim figure.
Only her pitch-black eyes spoiled the picture, although even they had a certain dark charm, if I am to be totally honest. Irritated with myself, I gestured towards a comfy armchair.

"Would you like a drink ?" I said.
She nodded and sat down tentatively on the edge of the seat.
I poured two large snifters of an 18th century cognac, my especial favourite, looted from some French duke's cellar during The Revolution.

(Which, I'm sorry to say, I had a hand in starting. Sorry because the place was a damn sight more civilised when the aristos were cruel but had exquisite taste, the poor were brutal and ignorant and nobody lived much longer than 35. Orders are orders, though.)

I handed a glass to Tuesday, who knocked it back in one gulp, to my utter dismay.
"There was one question you didn't answer," she suddenly said and I tensed up.
"Why could he not be left alone in ignorance?"
Inwardly, I felt a huge sense of relief that she omitted to ask the really tricky question. The question I had been dreading.

Outwardly, I shrugged.
"Too dangerous. Although he was born of mortal woman, he is a creation of Time. As he became sentient, he would feel the difference and become aware of certain powers, as would other mortals he associated with. He would have been tempted to use them without fully understanding them. And the mortals would brand him a sorcerer and burn him. Or the modern-day equivalent. Parade him on a reality TV show, probably."

She fell silent and I relaxed a little. She was far too intelligent to be a mere Day, I reflected and a moment later, she proved it.
"Who am I?" she asked and my watch raced.
"You are a creation of The Time Lord, as are we all," I replied immediately.
"Who am I?" she repeated with an alarming intensity.
I began to get slightly irritated with it.
"I just told you," I replied somewhat curtly.
There was to be no let up, though.

"Why," she said through gritted teeth," Am I the only woman Chrono ?"
That is it, enough is enough, I thought and became suddenly reckless.

"Why ? I'll tell you why, woman. Because He realised He'd made a dreadful mistake. Women are neurotic, hysterical on a monthly basis and worst of all, they inevitably want children. Which is the one thing we absolutely cannot allow in a Chronologist. There - happy now?"

I regretted those words even before they were out, but it was too late.
For a brief moment, she glared at me with sheer venom, before bursting into tears.
And then I made it even worse.

And then, as the old song goes, I kissed her.


*********************************************