Phoenix from the Ashes

Part way through secondary school I started to struggle with punctuation and paragraphs - a very bizarre ailment as I hadn't suffered from it before. To combat this I was set the challenge of writing a short story and this was the result:

Phoenix from the Ashes

The Williamses all sat down around the big table in the dining room.

“Right.” Mr. Williams said, “We've all agreed that this year we're going to have the best family holiday ever. So, in order to have a perfect holiday, we need a perfect plan.”

“Makes sense to me.” Cindy said, twirling a strand of her platinum blonde hair around her finger.

“Thank you, Cindy.” Mr. Williams said. He drew a pen from his top pocket and pulled towards him the pad of paper which usually resided by the phone I the hall in case of any incoming calls.

“Oh, John.” Mrs. Williams said, “Did you have to use that? What are the ids going to use to remember the calls that come for me when I'm out?”

“Their brains.” Mr. Williams said. He uncapped the pen and readied himself.

“Right.” he said, “Firstly, and most importantly, where are we going to go?” There was an uproar as everyone tried to put forward their own suggestions.

“Paris!” Cindy said.

“New York!” Alicia said.

“Egypt!” was James' suggestion.

“New Zealand!” said Robbie.

“How about the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?” Mr. Williams said, sarcastically.

“I quite fancy going to the Caribbean.” Mrs. Williams said. Mr. Williams looked annoyed.

“When I said 'Where shall we go',” he said, “I was actually thinking along the lines of Skegness.” Everyone let out a loud groan.

“Oh Dad!” Robbie whined, “You can't enjoy your holiday if it's constantly tipping it down with rain!”

“Yeah, Dad!” Alicia added, “Let's go somewhere more exotic.”

“The Caribbean's exotic.” Mrs. Williams said.

“Ok, ok, all right, ok.” Mr. Williams said, trying to calm the situation down. Everyone fell silent.

“Right,” Mr. Williams said, “Now, personally, I have no interest in going any further than the north coast of France.”

“Oh, Dad!” Cindy moaned, “Don't be so boring!”

“Yeah.” James said, “Come on, Dad. Learn to live a little.”

“I have no desire to do anything of the sort.” Mr. Williams said, firmly. He straightened his tie and prepared to put pen to paper.

“So we're all agreed.” he said, “We're going to Northern France.” There was a general murmur of mumbling and grumbling.

“Well, it's either that,” Mr. Williams said, “Or Auntie Vera's in Skegness.”

“Northern France.” Everyone chorused.

“Right.” Mr. Williams said. He made a little note of it on the pad. “Now the next thing to be decided,” he said, “is who's going to take care of Bruno.” On cue, the massive Rottweiler-Pitbull cross came bounding into the room from the garden, where he had been entertaining himself by terrifying the next door neighbour's cat.

“How about sending him to Auntie Vera's?” Mrs. Williams suggested, “That way he'd get a holiday as well.”

“Get real, Mum.” Alicia said, “Auntie Vera hates dogs. She hates animals.”

“Well,” Mrs. Williams said, “How about putting him in a kennel?”
“No!” Alicia cried, “We can't do that! He wouldn't like it. And we don't know how long we'd be away!”

“Well, I was thinking about a week.” Mr. Williams interjected.

“There.” Mrs. Williams said, “That wouldn't be too bad, would it?”

“Yes.” Alicia scowled.

“Well, he can't stay here.” Mr. Williams said.

“Why not?” James asked.

“Yeah.” Robbie said, “We could get Mrs. Norris from next door to pop in to check on him now and again. You know, give him his meals and so on.” Mr. Williams thought about this.

“I supposed we could do that.” he said, “If Mrs. Norris agrees.” Alicia cheered up.

“Ok” Mrs. Williams said, “So that's sorted.” Mr. Williams wrote it down.

“Right.” He said, “The next question is: How are we going to get to France?”

“Air!” James said.

“Sea!” Alicia said.

“Tunnel!” Cindy said.

“Not bothered.” Robbie said. Mr. Williams turned to his wife.

“Which would you prefer, dear?”

“Well,” Mrs. Williams said, “I'm not too good with travelling so I'd like to take the shortest route possible.”

“And which one's that?” Mr. Williams asked.

“Air!” James said.

“Sea!” Alicia said.

“Tunnel!” Cindy said.

“No idea.” Robbie said.

“Well, personally,” Mr. Williams said, “I'd like to go via the Channel Tunnel.”

“Oh, Dad!” Alicia cried.

“That's well unfair!” James added.

“Well, we can't go by air.” Mr. Williams explained, “I suffer from vertigo.”

“And I suffer from seasickness.” Mrs. Williams said. Alicia and James folded their arms across their chests and slumped back in their chairs.

“Anything else we need to prepare?” Mr. Williams asked, ignoring the two sulkers.

“Yeah,” Robbie said, “Dad, where in North France are we going to go?”

“Yeah, Dad.” Cindy said, “Which region are we going to or which city or town?”

“I don't know.” Mr. Williams said, “What regions are there?”

“Look at a map.” Mrs. Williams said, “Go get the atlas, James.”

“Make Alicia get it.” James said.

“Go get the atlas, Alicia.”

“Make Bruno get it.” Alicia said.

“I'll get it!” Mr. Williams yelled, jumping up from the table. “I'm not letting that dog slobber all over it.” After much arguing, complaining and threats from Mrs. Williams about sending some of her children to their rooms, it was decided that, this year, the Williams' holiday destination would be Calais.

“Right.” Mr. Williams said, “Now it's down to you lot. Gawd 'elp us. Go and sort out what you want to take with you. And, for Gawd's sake, try to keep it reasonable.” The others were off like a shot. Mr. Williams rolled his eyes and made his way slowly upstairs and walked steadily past each room, yelling out instructions.

“Robbie! You can not fit your ghetto blaster speakers in your sports bag!”

“Oh, Dad!” came Robbie's reply. Mr. Williams moved on.

“Alicia! You are not taking your entire stuffed toy collection with you!”

“Oh, Dad!” Alicia said.

“James!” It is an offence to smuggle native wildlife into foreign countries.!”

“Oh, Dad!” James moaned.

“Cindy!” Mr. Williams said.

“Oh, Dad!” Cindy called back. Mr. Williams walked into his own bedroom to find his wife smiling at him as she folded up a pair of trousers.

“You know them too well.” she said.

“I need a holiday.” Mr. Williams said.

“Funny you should say that.” replied his wife. Mr. Williams went over to his wardrobe, opened it ad pulled out a heap of clothes which he proceeded to dump on his bed.

“There's just one thing bothering me.” Mrs. Williams said.

“What's that?” asked Mr. Williams.

“Is there any point in packing when we haven't booked a holiday?”

“Well, we know we're going on a holiday.” Mr. Williams said, “So we might as well at least put the stuff we want to take to one side.” Mrs. Williams found this explanation reasonable and continued folding her choice of clothes into neat squares and placing them in her suitcase.

“There's one thing bothering me though.” Mr. Williams said.

“What?” Mrs. Williams asked.

“How on earth do we expect to be able to pull this off without a hitch?” Mrs. Williams smiled and got on with her packing.

She was the first to finish out of all of them and it was then decided that she should go and sort out the booking arrangements. When the others came downstairs it was all sorted. Mrs. Williams told them all about it.

“We're staying for one glorious wee at the 'Vue de Mer' holiday camp in Calais. I've booked one chalet from the twelfth to the nineteenth. Is everyone ok with that?”

“Yes!” said everyone.

Over the next few days, everything went surprisingly well until Mr. Williams phoned the travel company to check that their chosen resort had a pitch and putt golf course as the brochures they had been sent were slightly hazy about the subject.

“Good afternoon. Thompson & Smith travel agents. How can I help you?”

“Er... hello.” Mr. Williams said, “My name is Williams. I'm phoning to check some details about the holiday I've booked. It's the twelfth to the nineteenth at the Vue de Mer holiday camp.”
“One minute please, sir.” said the voice at the other end of the line. Mr. Williams waited patiently.

“I'm sorry, sir.” said the voice, “We don't have a Williams booking at the particular resort from the twelfth to the nineteenth.” Mr. Williams froze. “We have one from the tenth to the seventeenth, sir. Could that be the one you mean?”

“I have a sneaking suspicion.” Mr. Williams said, under his breath.

“Sorry, sir?” said the voice.

“Oh, nothing.” Mr. Williams said. He finished his enquiries and replaced the receiver.

“Mary!” he called. Mrs. Williams poked her head over the top of the stairwell and looked down into the hall where Mr. Williams was.

“Yes, dear?” she said.

“Do you know what you've done?” Mr. Williams asked.

“No, dear.” Mrs. Williams said.

“I'll tell you.” said her husband, “You have made a terrible error in the booking arrangements. In fact, had I not just phoned the travel agents to ask about the facilities we would have turned up at the resort in France two days into our holiday!” There was a pause.

“Oops.” Mrs. Williams said. Mr. Williams tutted and shook his head from side to side.

“How could you make a mistake like that?” he asked.

“Well, tenth and twelfth sound incredibly similar on the phone.” his wife explained. The situation was explained to the children and the result was a mad panic which took quite a while for the parents to settle.

In the days that followed, phone numbers were dialled, arrangements were hurriedly changed and Mrs. Norris was rushed into agreeing to babysit Bruno.

The day finally came for them to set off for Dover, where they were going to take the Eurostar train to Calais and then make their way to the holiday camp. They had set the target time for leaving at 10:00am. They knew they would ever make it but at least if they had an early target they wouldn't be too late in leaving. At first, it seemed that the plan was working. And then Mr. Williams tried to pack the children's luggage into the boot of the car. The boys had been quite sensible with their packing but the girls' bags would not have fitted in the boot even if everything else had been taken out. Mr. Williams opened Alicia's bag first.

“Alicia!” he called.

“'Zup, Dad?” Alicia asked, responding to his summons. Mr. Williams pulled a 2ft tall fluffy bunny from Alicia's bag.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Buffy.” Alicia said.

“Buffy?” Mr. Williams said.

“Yeah.” Alicia replied, “Buffy Bunny. She's my lucky mascot.”

“Couldn't your lucky mascot be any smaller?” Mr. Williams asked.

“No.” said Alicia. Mr. Williams sighed.

“Well, she's going to have to sit on your lap.” he said, “There's no way she'll fit in the boot.”

“Fine.” Alicia said. She seized the massive rabbit around the waist and strode away. Mr. Williams stuffed her considerably lighter bag into the boot and moved on to Cindy's bag, which weighed a ton.

“Cindy!” he yelled. Cindy marched out of the house and over to the car, pulled out a huge stack of 'Cosmo' magazines out of her bag and took them back inside.

When the luggage was all packed and the essentials for the trip had been preapred; drinks, maps and son on, the family piled into the car. Mr. Williams started the engine and they set off down the road at 11:30. They had nearly reached the end of their street when Cindy yelled,

“Stop!” Mr. Williams hit the brakes.

“What?” he asked.

“I've forgotten something. Go back.” Mr. Williams turned the car around and drove back to the house. Cindy disappeared inside and reappeared five minutes later clutching her mobile phone.

“We came back for that?” Mr. Williams said, disbelieving.

“It's an essential part of my travel kit, Dad.” Cindy said, getting back in the car.

They set off again and were nearly out of town when Robbie insisted they go back to get his personal stereo. What with that, and about half a million other things that people had forgotten, they finally got onto the motorway and quarter past twelve. The entire journey was 80 miles and took over three hours due to a traffic jam on the M20 so everyone was really overheated and irritable by the time they reached Dover. They were over an hour late for their train but, luckily for them, the train had been delayed due to a tip-off about some asylum seekers and the train had had to be searched before the passengers were permitted on board. They finally reached the port of Calais and spent the next hour or so looking for a sign saying 'Vue de Mer'. The long time spent searching was due to Mrs. Williams' poor navigational skills. The holiday camp itself was fantastic and catered to their every desire. The sun shone all week and every day involved a trip to the beach which was just across the road from the camp. Everyone made some new friends; though Mr. Williams heartily disapproved of Cindy's. At the end of the week when they all returned home it was agreed unanimously that this had been their best family holiday ever.